Bonds of Blood
by 42-Sporks
Summary: When a bounty is placed on him, Jack Sparrow sails in search of the largest treasure in the Caribbean. But with murderous captains at his throat, Will Turner dragged into the mix, and only half a map, a simple treasure hunt turns into a grand adventure.
1. The Black Spot

Summary: Indebted to a murderous pirate, Captain Jack Sparrow goes in search of his father's ancient treasure trove: home to more than thirty years of plundering.

Rating: PG-13 for violence, language, substance abuse, an sexual situations.

Timeline: A sequel of sorts, one that will predate the film coming out on July 7th of next year.

Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story are the property of Disney. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.

Note: Title is subject to change. Any suggestions would be nice.

Not a Mary-Sue. I so much as read one review with those words in it and your ass is mine. You will make me naked for a day, but I will strip you for all eternity, savvy? If you bloody bastards wanna start a battle of wits I've got you beaten my default. Go get attention from someone who cares.

That's the last I'm gonna say of it. Good day, dames and gents, and enjoy.

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Pirates of the Caribbean 2

Chapter One: The Black Spot

_A pair of nine-year-old eyes stared out through the cracks in the floor at his mother pacing restlessly above. For over an hour, they had been watching the woman from such a position after she had ushered both he and their female ward down below and out of sight._

_"Out of the way, Jack, I want to see," the tiny girl whispered and tried to push him out of the way. He turned his sights on her, eyes narrowed in frustration and fear before lifting his finger in the air to silence her. Though he had only seen their father utilize such a tactic effectively, the younger child silenced immediately, but not so much from Jack's actions. Rather, the front door to their small home had just been thrown open and shouts and screams were filtering in from outside._

_Their mother didn't scream. She didn't beg and didn't cry. Not even as two men entered and snatched her by the arms gruffly. Unconsciously, she attempted to escape, and was rewarded for her efforts with a swift upper cut to the jaw. She fell back into the waiting arms of another man who had seemingly come from nowhere and was not joining in the scuffle of binding the woman. _

_It took only seconds to subdue her and lead her out of the house._

_Jack lowered his eyes and headed for the trap door. The girl went after him._

_"Where are you going?" she hissed. "She told us to stay…"_

_"Shut it, Morgan," he snapped. "Now listen to me: you stay here and you stay quiet. I'm going to see what's going on."_

_"But Jack…"_

_"I said shut it," he snapped again, irritated with her incompetence. She was just barely four after all. "You stay here, alright? I'll be back for you."_

_"What if they come back?" she said with tears in her eyes. "What if they take me too Jack?"_

_Morgan had started to cry. Her choked sobs radiated upwards into the house and potentially into the waiting ears of other villagers still hanging about the house. Jack scampered over hurriedly and clapped a hand over her mouth. However, the hostility he showed only served to exacerbate the poor girl's symptoms. Sighing, he released her, attempting to remember the words to the song their mother always sung to them._

_"Carry me out to the wide open space," he began, rushing it along so she would calm herself, "Where the sun and the moon show their beauty and grace. Summon me back to the tall cresting waves, my Lord and my freedom, my kingdom…"_

_"The sea," she finished with him, wiping her tears away. "You think she's dead, don't you?"_

_He went still for a time, unsure of what to tell her. Then, with a small and shaky nod, he confirmed his fears. "Yes, Morgan, I think she's dead. But I've got to go check, so stay right here and I'll be back, alright?"_

_She nodded, just as shakily as he, if not more so. More tears tumbled down her cheeks and Jack was quick to tear a piece of his raggedy clothing and wipe them away. "Count to a hundred and I'll be back."_

_"You don't know how high that is," she replied. Jack rolled his eyes. Sometimes Morgan was too smart for her own good. Even though their mother taught them equally, Morgan was better at it than he was. Jack could rig ships, cast nets, and find a use for practically anything but could barely count to ten without assistance. _

_"I know it's high enough," he snapped back. "Start counting. I've got to go."_

_He headed for the trapdoor again, but Morgan stopped him. "Jack?" she asked._

_He groaned and turned. "Yeah?"_

_"You will be back, won't you?"_

_"I'll be back, Morgan. I promise ye, I'll be back."_

"Captain," a low, lurid voice commanded from nowhere.

Jack Sparrow jerked about , hands moving slowly and limply through the air. "I told you…" he mumbled, still completely asleep. His fingers went up into the air as if he were about to make a profound statement. "I did not sleep with your two sisters."

Tossing a bucket of cold water on him, Ana Maria effectively brought him into the waking world. Jack leapt up onto his feet shakily, hands waving about in the air for some unseen assailant. Hands on her hips and bucket at her feet, the female pirate stared at him, greatly unamused by his performance.

"That, darling, was uncalled for."

"Not entirely," she said. "Rags is here."

"What in the bloody hell do I care about Rags?" he asked, squeezing the water from his dread locks.

"He has news that you need to hear."

Jack rolled his eyes. That would be the day. Rags was a freelance sponge to pirates everywhere. He gathered information on the mainland from a variety of sources – some legitimate, some not so much – and then sold it whenever ships were in port. That day, it happened to be the Black Pearl, fastest ship in the Caribbean, stationed for the past few hours in Tortuga when they lost the wind.

"I'm paying some man to sing songs about who is and isn't after us, savvy?" Jack said with a sigh.

"And normally I'd be agreeing with you, but this time the last of your gold is worth it."

Jack's eyes narrowed shrewdly. "This had better be, love."

He staggered out of the hold, straight up the wooden steps to the deck above.

It was a clear night with a soft breeze, nothing enough to sail by yet but Jack had a feeling it would be back soon. Blue moonlight cascaded from the giant full moon above them, covering the inky black nighttime waters with gleaming starlight.

His crew was standing and sneering at the dirty little man in the center of their circle. Rags was barely five feet tall, a man made mainly of flesh and bone rather than fat or muscle. Having lived at the bottom of the barrel his entire life, he bore the look of a starved corpse. Mousy brown hair hung loosely from his head, falling out even as he stood there staring wide eyed and cocky at the Captain. His head was permanently tilted to one side, courtesy of an abusive father or so some said. Scars lined his face, mementos of previously unsatisfied customers. Alas, such a thing was as Jack said, "Welcome to the Caribbean, love."

"I've only got five pieces for whatever you're selling, Rags, so make it good and make it quick."

Rags was quick to snatch the offered money from the outstretched Captain's hand, chuckling under his breath like a madman. He staggered backward to his original position and deposited the coins into the pouch on his belt before beginning his announcement. "You're a marked man, Jack Sparrow."

The Captain's eyes narrowed. "What are you going on about Rags?"

The smaller man's psychotic laugh followed, interrupted by a loud, long, and wet cough. Ana Maria made a face at the sound of it, as did many other members of the crew, but Jack just stared and waited for Rags to say what he had come to say.

"The illustrious Captain Robert Bateman is seeking payment for the money lent to you on the night of June twenty-second, seventeen eighty…eighty…" Rags faded off, unsure of the exact year in which the Captains had partaken in such a bargain. Jack didn't seem to care one way or another. That day had been long ago, and Rags had already mentioned more than he knew.

"You go back and tell Captain Bateman I will have his money in full in a matter of moments," Jack said, pointing back at port.

"Jack…" Ana Maria whispered from behind him, her voice barely a whisper in an attempt to communicate the one underlying flaw to Jack's seemingly brilliant plan – the crew was completely broke. However, he hushed her by waving a finger unsteadily through the air.

"I'm afraid that this will not suffice, Jack Sparrow. It would seem that the great Captain Bateman has already gone forth to put a bounty on your head."

"If the great Captain Bateman has so much money to throw around as to put a bounty on me, why is it so urgent that I pay him back?" Jack countered, but Rags was already shaking his head, laughing like a loon.

"Money paid means money owed, even though the bounty on your head could pay such a debt twice over," Rags laughed and coughed again, spitting a wad of green saliva onto the deck. That time even Jack had to flinch. "Captain Bateman demands your head as payment now. You're a marked man, Sparrow, wanted by every cut throat in Tortuga now."

Rags walked slowly back to the starboard side of the ship, pushing his way through the hostile crew before turning on a heel and returning back to the middle of the deck. "Oh, and one more thing, Jack Sparrow: Captain Bateman asked that I give you this, regardless of what I was paid."

He tossed a small scroll to the deck of the ship, wrapped in thin leather string and two smooth stones to give it weight. Jack lowered and picked it up, unwrapping it quickly.

In the middle of the frayed parchment was the black spot: the Pirate's death sentence.

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Well, be as overly critical as you like. Please review nonetheless :)


	2. Sparrow's Legacy

Summary: Indebted to a murderous pirate, Captain Jack Sparrow goes in search of the greatest treasure imaginable.  
Rating: PG-13.  
Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story are the property of Disney. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.

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Chapter Two: Sparrow's Legacy

Ana Maria jogged back down into the hold, cursing Jack Sparrow's behaviour the whole way there. After spending thirty seconds barking out orders to raise the anchor, lower the sails, and set a course for open water the Captain had taken off like a bat out of hell for his cabin once more. In her mind's eyes, she could see him taking a nap for several more hours, but that seemed out of character for Jack. Then again, so did high tailing away from deck after demanding that they set sail. He usually headed for the helm.

Forsaking the usual etiquette of knocking, Ana threw the door open and found Jack sorting through a month year old mess of old rum bottles, papers, and rotten apples. Some of Barbossa's things were still present but for the most part, Jack was responsible for the way in which his things were kept. Breathing through her mouth to avoid smelling the ungodly odour of rotting food, she spoke angrily. "You're a dead man."

He didn't seem to hear her, too busy it seemed, yanking a drawer out of the desk in front of him before dumping its contents into the mess on the floor. He then dropped to his knees and sifted through it frantically.

"Did you hear me, Jack? Captain Robert Bateman – scourge of the Caribbean. By nightfall you'll have every bounty hunter at your throat."

Again, Jack ignored her, hastily yanking another drawer from the desk and throwing its contents to the floor as well. Once more, he was disappointed by what he found. "Blast!" he shouted, "Where's the map gone?"

She rolled her eyes in disbelief. "Not this again, Jack."

Jack reached for another drawer but found he had run out of them. He made a quick dive for the floor boards and attempted to yank them up with his fingernails. Ana just watched with a disgusted expression on her face, knowing that there was nothing she could say or do to make him pay attention to her.

"Cap'ain," Gibbs had now come bumbling down the hall and pushed his way past Ana into Jack's cabin. He looked around, shocked to see how a once partially clean cabin had gone to looking as if it had just gone through a hurricane. His eyes were fixed on Jack. "What in the blazes are you doing?"

Jack rose to his feet quickly, eyes closed and fingers moving in tiny circles. "Mr. Gibbs," he began, "If you were a treasure map, where would I hide you?"

Gibbs' expression greatly resembled a man who had just been struck with something very hard in the head, though the Captain was exhibiting many more symptoms of such a state. "Treasure map, Captain?"

His eyes flew open suddenly, and then Jack rushed from the room. "Oh no, no, no I didn't…" Pushing past both his first mate and the stunned man at her side, he headed straight back to the room where he had been sleeping before being awakened. He practically threw the door from its hinges as he entered and pounced immediately on the small pile of fishing nets and blankets he had fashioned into a make shift bed. Though he normally would have napped in his cabin, he wanted to be undisturbed. Sleeping was hard to come by lately.

Piecing through his personal effects, Jack once again came up empty handed.

"Damn it all to hell," he whispered and groaned.

"Lost something, captain?" Gibbs asked.

"A map," he tossed through his items once more.

"A fake map," Ana interjected.

"Not a fake map," Jack recoiled, standing shakily on his feet. "A real map – well, part of one anyways."

"Completely useless," she scoffed.

"Only without the other half," the Captain explained. "But without the first piece we are lost, to be certain."

"We are lost anyways!" Ana shouted. "That treasure is a myth, Jack."

"What treasure?" Gibbs asked.

"Not what treasure," Jack said, matter-of-factly, finger in the air. "The treasure. The mother-load, Mister Gibbs – ten times the size of any Aztec treasure trove…"

"And just as mythical."

Jack's eyes narrowed at Ana's last statement. Any other time, her sardonic commentary would have been appreciated. It seemed to be the only thing that kept any of them grounded in reality, especially after the war with the undead crew of Captain Barbossa. But at the moment, Jack was suffering from a partial hangover and the inability to remember where he hidden his map piece to the greatest treasure around.

"What treasure?" Gibbs asked. "It's not that 'Sparrow Treasure' ye keep going on about is it Jack?"

The entire crew knew of Jack's treasure. After a few stiff drinks he could go on forever about his family's legacy. "Largest treasure trove imaginable," he'd say, and then after another drink would continue. "Bigger than Cortez's; filled with more gold than the whole of Asia; worth more than the Caribbean itself; and it's waiting for me, somewhere out there."

And then he would promptly pass out, wake up, and do the same thing over again the next night.

"It may be," Jack said with shifty eyes.

"Oh, good God Jack," Gibbs sighed. "How many times do I have to tell ye this? Your father had no such treasure. And even if he did – which he didn't – he certainly would have ripped the map to pieces nor would he of…"

"Mr. Gibbs, Ms. Maria," Jack snapped suddenly, bringing both to attention. "All hands on deck."

Translation: this conversation is over.

The two nodded. "Aye Captain," they responded and left the cabin.

Alone at last, Jack Sparrow turned back to the room. "Where are you?" he muttered lowly, to no one in particular. His memory moved backward through time, concentrating on the singular constant in his life. That map meant more to him than any bullet of vengeance, any compass that could sail him to Isle de Muerte. It was the last piece of his father he had left, and it was worth everything in the world. Jack had been given the last piece to an age old legacy - one half of a treasure map that would lead him to the legendary fortune built by none other than his father.

At the time, the other pieces didn't matter. Without his own, the map was useless as it was, his father had made that much clear. Without a legend, titles, or a compass rose, he was lost in a series of islands that were identical to every other land mass in the Caribbean.

A thought occurred to him suddenly, one which he hadn't considered in his fervor before. Snatching his compass from the floor, he opened it and held it an arm's length from him for several moments. Poking and prodding at the thin lining along the interior of the case, he finally grinned happily as he found the ragged cloth peel away and reveal a small slip of parchment beneath.

"Yo ho," he said with a grin.

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**Reviews**

**_iLUVfire_: **looks sheepish Yeah, that's where I got the idea for it. But if you have seen the new _Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest_ trailer, the second Davy Jons says that Jack is sentenced to die, a black spot appears on his hand, so I'm pretty sure it is a fact. However, if it isn't, it was based on _Muppet's Treasure Island._ I love your name.

**_margiann_**: I assume you're all for Jack/Ana? I'm a little disappointed though, because Zoe Saldana doesn't appear to be returning for the sequel. Such a thought makes me weep - she was such an intriguing character. Jack needs a good woman in his life, someone who won't burn the rum. Lol.

**Thanks for reviewing:)**

Now, if you would please do so again.


	3. The Wayfarer's Redemption

Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story are the property of Walt Disney. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.

Author's Notes: This chapter is named after a fantasy novel which I've never read. However, it seemed to suit as a ship's name, so I used it. I apologize to Sara Douglass, the original author of the book for using it. But, if it's any consolation, it's kind of free publicity.

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Chapter Three: The Wayfarer's Redemption

In the dim lamplight of his cabin, Jack unfolded the map over the surface of his desk, tossing off anything that obstructed his view. The frail piece of parchment had been folded now for more than ten years without another thought. He had assumed that both time and chance would eventually reunite the shattered pieces once more, and when he met the scallywag who held the missing fragment, he would get him good and drunk before stealing it and sailing off into the night.

And though there had been many a drunken night spent by the illustrious Captain Jack, none of them ever contained the appearance of the missing map piece. Whoever his father handed it over too was probably as far from the Caribbean as they had ever been, but hell or high water, he was going to get himself out of the mess he now found himself in – with his head still attached to his shoulders.

Scanning over the map piece for the first time in a long time, Jack found himself lost amidst several small passages of writing he didn't recognize as English. Not that it would have helped him much anyways. He couldn't read to save his life, and at that moment the statement was very much a literal one.

Still, he knew that there was some kind of mark on the map, a clue of sorts that his father had left for him so that when the day came that he would finally pursue such a grand fortune. On the bottom right-hand corner of his piece were two symbols: one he recognized, the other he didn't.

His father's symbol was the first. It was a small black shape made up of a fish tail and woman's body. "The mark of the mermaid, that one," someone once told him about his estranged parent, referring of course to his father's ship the Crystal Mermaid. "Bloody ghost ship – could take on an entire fleet before they even knew they were being attacked.

But the second, and surely the location of the missing half, was more obscure than the first. It was a black line of some kind, attached to a small square drawn messily beside the mermaid. A signature followed, but without the ability to read, he was lost. _Have to find someone to translate…_he thought, but went back to examining the sigil.

"Snake…" he said, trying to jog his memory of fellow pirate captains. "Serpent…no, no, not a serpent…sting! Rope…whip…Whippet! No, never mind he's dead. Sea Serpent Stevens! No, no, too young…who are you?"

A thought dawned on him then, one that caused a cocky smirk to spread across his lips. "Bootstrap…" he whispered under his breath.

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Jack Sparrow emerged from his cabin with renewed zeal. "Where's that idiot Rags gone!" he barked, yanking a telescope from his coat as he did so. Staring out over the port side where Rags had descended from and searched the inky black waters for him. The tiny silhouette could be seen floating halfway between Tortuga and the Pearl, just far enough away for it to be safe for Jack to approach him. 

The Captain needed no permission. He tossed the cover from a dingy and worked to get it seaworthy. Ana descended the upper deck.

"Have you lost your mind, Jack?" she shouted, but realized a split second too late it was a bad question to ask. Jack Sparrow most certainly was, out of his mind.

He wasn't listening…again; too distracted while he pushed the dingy off the port side and lowered her into the water. And he was quick about it too. By the time Ana had stomped over to him, he had jumped off the deck, into the waiting boat and slashed the ropes that held him to the ship.

"JACK!" she shouted. He started paddling for dear life in Rags' direction.

Ana turned back to the ship, "HELM TO PORTSIDE!"

Jack, however, was much faster. A single stroke propelled him several feet, while the Pearl was larger and more awkward in small spaces. She would have to make a full circle to avoid capsizing. In the meantime, he could have his short discussion with Rags and be ready to head off once more, this time knowing in which direction he needed to go.

Rags caught sight of the angry Captain in an instant, letting out a shriek like a dying animal. The oars bucked about as he attempted to quicken pace, but his emaciated limbs couldn't manage the speed that Jack could. He succeeded only in turning his dingy sharply, toward a vacant strip of beach outside Tortuga's reach. Jack smiled at his fortune, knowing that if Rags had managed to get to civilization, his plan would have failed miserably.

The two boats collided fiercely and Jack leapt from his to the other, pouncing on Rags like a wild cat would his prey. The man let out a frightened yelp for assistance, but Jack had a hand over his mouth to keep him from shouting anymore.

"I'm only going to say this once Rags, so listen well," Jack began. "I need to know the location of the Wayfarer's Redemption. And if you raise your voice anything above a whisper, your next client will be Davy Jones himself."

The barrel of his pistol was pressed tightly to Rags' chin to stave off any resistance from the smaller man. Jack slid his hand away from Rags' mouth and waited for a response.

"Bootstrap's ship? Why would you want that?"

He clamped his hand over Rags' mouth again and bent him over the edge of the dingy, allowing the back of his scalp to touch the surface of the water. "I will not ask you again Rags: where is the Wayfarer's Redemption?"

"It hasn't been in the Caribbean for years! Not since Bootstrap's murder!"

"Well then there's no use in keeping you dry, is there?" Jack asked, pushing Rags closer to the water. The smaller man could offer little opposition to Jack's strength. He just cried out again.

"NO! NO! WAIT A MINUTE! IT WAS SPOTTED NOT TWO DAYS AGO!"

"Where?" Jack hissed.

"Some Port to the west of Tortuga…"

"You're not helping," Jack reminded him by submerging him up to his eyelids.

"NO! NO! PORT…REGAL! PORT…ROYALTY! PORT…"

"Port Royal?" Jack suggested at last.

"PORT ROYAL!" Rags shouted in agreement. "Port Royal. Swann's port."

"Lovely," Jack mumbled, dropping Rags into the water. He jumped back into his own dingy and paddled back to the Pearl.

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**Reviews**:

**_alexwacrap_**: Oh yeah, I've been obsessed with the trailer. I love the scene with Will who protests agaisnt leaving Jack behind, but suddenly changes his tune when the Jack races across the beach from a hoard of angry tribesmen. It was beautiful sniffles. I can't wait to see it now, especially because it looks like there will be another duel between Jack and Will, one in which Will may or may not disobey the rules of engagement :).

And now...

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	4. Forgotten Vows

Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story are the property of Disney. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.

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Chapter Four: Forgotten Vows

Will Turner had always been an excessively jittery person in the face of situations above his social class. Even going to the Governor's house for five second deliveries was enough to leave the poor boy in convulsions. So it was no surprise to find him pacing nervously in the upstairs hall, mumbling obscenities to himself, and all because he couldn't remember his wedding vows.

He had never begrudged his bride-to-be anything before, and when she had suggested that they compose their own vows for the ceremony he leapt at the chance to document exactly how he felt about Miss. Elizabeth Swann. Of course, he had to make a few alterations here and there to appease her father, Governor Swann, who had never approved of their union, as well as the other bureaucrats in Elizabeth's family who were attending; not to mention the numerous amount of socialites and members of the aristocracy who were traveling many leagues – in some cases, all the way from Britain – to witness such an occasion as this. Elizabeth was the family's greatest asset, being that she was the last unmarried Swann of appropriate age. This wedding was to be the largest in recorded history of the Caribbean, putting a great dent into the family fortune he was soon to inherit.

The thought brought yet another lump to his throat, and he was forced to fight off the urge to vomit from the thought of embarrassing himself. Not that he could do any worse for wear anyways. The family was already aware of his more than humble origins, and the Governor's dislike for him did nothing to quell his fears about marrying Elizabeth. Weatherby Swann's pride had taken a hit when his daughter had chosen the proposal of a blacksmith over the intentions of one of the finest naval officers in his fleet. Since the announcement of their engagement, he had done everything in his power to convince Elizabeth that her decision was just as second-rate as Will himself was by providing her with a great many comparisons. The Swann household played host to a variety of gentlemen, all of which were devastatingly handsome, exceptionally schooled, and disgustingly rich.

And while Will's dignity suffered, Elizabeth was always supportive. "You know that you're the only one for me, Will," she'd say with a smile. And he believed it because he knew in his heart that she really truly did love him.

But his memory lapse that day had nothing to do with his fiancée, who was more than supportive and generous with her share of affection. It all related back to the atrocious family she came from, many of whom made the Governor look tame by comparison. Their own attempts to woo the young Elizabeth from her chosen spouse were slow moving and far more discrete than Weatherby's. William had arrived home one night to find his apartment crawling with as many whores as Port Royal could offer, each one bought and paid for by another family member. Suspiciously enough, Elizabeth's cousin had convinced her into taking a stroll that night on a meticulously plotted path directly beside his home.

He hung his head and took another deep breath in an effort to calm himself, but his heart still pounded in his chest. In not five minutes he would be forced in front of an entire room of Swann's to recite a profession of undying love, faithfulness, and infidelity, something that had taken him half the night to write mind you, but one that had swiftly left his brain the moment he had entered the house.

"Ahem…" he turned quickly to find one of the Swann servants at the top of the stairs. The servant neither bowed, nor spoke calmly as he would have any other of the Swann guests, but kept his chin high and voice haughty to drive home the statement he knew his master wished to make: that Elizabeth's affections aside, Will Turner – orphan, blacksmith, pirate – was not welcome here. However, he was forced to utter, "They are ready for you, sir…"

The final word was spat out with so much contempt it hit Will like a slap across the cheek. He nodded to the servant, who had already stalked off with the air of a man who'd had a cucumber shoved up his bottom, and promptly followed, albeit shakily.

Ceremonies were being held in the courtyard of Swann Manor, but the house had been kept decorated all month from the amount of family members visiting. Fresh garland draped the stair rail and live swans had been bought to parade around the gardens, though they most often found their way into the house from the absent-minded relatives leaving the doors wide open. Such a bird was waddling through the foyer William entered, squawking incessantly at the maids and butlers moving from one room to the next.

_Think of it this way, Will: you're one step closer to being over and done with this_, he thought.

His stomach tossed about inside his abdomen again, painfully this time. It wasn't the amount of steps that mattered anymore. It was the size and magnitude of each that left him more and more anxious as he drew nearer the courtyard.

No one stood up as he entered. In fact, no one even seemed to notice his presence. Such a lowly member of society was beyond the sights of such people. Seated in a gloriously decorated garden, wallowing in their splendor and self-pity, the Swann family was a sight to be seen that day. Each woman was straight laced, smug as peacocks the lot of them, with heaps of jewelry and expensive fabrics as their tail feathers. The men next to them looked about as good-humoured as a sea urchin, probably from the dark suits they had chosen to wear. Mixed with the Caribbean sun, it was a cocktail for additional impatience soon to be channeled at their inferior son-in-law.

"While we're young, boy," the minister snapped from the alter before him. William snapped out of his reverie and nodded, marching forward as stoically as he could manage. The task was not easily carried out as the beady eyes of the Swanns slowly found their way to him and drove themselves into his soul. He could practically hear their thoughts within their stares as they attempted to intimidate him further. Pursing his lips, palms sweaty from being clenched into fists, Will came to a halt at the alter on the right hand side of the pastor.

"Well, is there no one else to join your wedding party?" the minister asked incredulously.

Will shook his head. "No sir."

"And no family either," the minister rolled his eyes and shot a malicious expression in his direction as if to add in, "No surprise."

He looked away and took another breath. _Just relax, Will._

The wedding party came next, but Will couldn't stand to watch them. It seemed that the Governor had done everything in his power to outdo the humble blacksmith now courting his daughter. The rehearsal was no more a rehearsal than it was the actual ceremony. Weatherby had outdone himself with a brand new wig and coat for himself, the buckles of which were solid gold in Will's expert opinion. And while Elizabeth herself was modestly clothed, she always appeared beautiful in his opinion, sometimes without even trying.

She smiled at him supportively, and mouthed the words, "Don't be worried."

"A little late for that," he whispered back to her. However, she just bore that look of charmed grace and his insides churned, more from her beauty now than the wretchedly unfair family.

The Governor and his daughter came to a halt at the Alter beneath the minister, who coughed lowly and began the sermon.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the rehearsal ceremony of the daughter of Governor Weatherby Swann, son of the Duke of Sampson, grandson of Lord Matthew the third, advisor to King James himself; to the son of a…what did you say your father was boy?"

Will's mouth went dry and spoke quietly, "A blacksmith."

"Your real father, boy," the minister said through clenched teeth.

"A merchant marine," he confessed.

"A MERCHANT MARINE," the minister's voice amplified on the word, and Will was certain he saw shivers pass down the spines of Elizabeth's family. He could no longer bear to meet even her stare any longer.

"Normally, these things take at least three to four hours, but seeing as how it is so hot out today, I decided that we would skip straight to the wedding vows and dismiss from there. With your permission, Governor, of course."

"Minister Bailey, your suggestion is well based. I fear that the heat will soon get the better of us, so please, if you would continue."

"Then it is according to tradition, that I initiate the reading of the groom's vow first."

No amount of humiliation seemed good enough any longer. Weatherby had no doubt paid a handsome sum for the minister's stunt, and if not, was going to after the ceremony. Body trembling at the thought of reading aloud something that was an unprepared as he was, Will stepped forward and cleared his throat.

The silence that surrounded him was deafening, distinguished by the occasional swish of fans or exaggerated yawns. Throat dry, he took a deep breath. "Elizabeth…" he stammered. "Miss. Swann…"

"There's not a single person who doesn't know her name," the minister said loudly behind him.

"Yes, thank you," Will remarked sheepishly. God, why had it gotten so hot all of a sudden? He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Elizabeth from the first moment I uh, I met you twelve years ago I…I knew that we…that we…"

She was staring at him now, her beautiful brown eyes hanging off every single word. His own circled the courtyard and found the family was as well, but unlike Elizabeth who was savouring the emotion behind them, they were just waiting for him to fall flat on his face…again.

"That we were destined to be together," he managed to finish. "And that no matter what our paths would cross again."

"Does this story have a point, boy?"

"Yes, yes sir," he said, but the rest of the speech was lost again. Already, he had been improvising, but the words no longer seemed good enough. They rotted the second they reached the ears of Elizabeth's less-than-impressed family members.

_Come on, come on, _Will urged his mind to speed up, but nothing came into his head. He was left alone and useless by an unschooled vocabulary, a substandard mind, an unforgivable rank in the social hierarchy…

And it only seemed to be getting hotter.

"What seems to be the matter boy? Cat got your tongue?"

Will gave up. "I'm sorry," he said to Elizabeth, and marched back into the house.

* * *

**_Author's Notes_**: I feel like I should address this fairly early on. Once the initial treasure hunt begins, Elizabeth's character will move into the background and probably go unseen until the conclusion. But before I receive a barrage of negative reviews regarding this, I will explain the decision. There is an old theatre saying that states (and I'm paraphrasing) that if you bring a gun on stage, you have to shoot it. Basically, if you bring a plot point of a character into the foreground, you have to have a use for them. Most of the development in this story is left to Will and Jack, and while Elizabeth acts as a catalyst, she's not a direct source of change for either character. This should not suggest that I wish to pair Will up with another female character of my own design, or that I have any intentions of making this a slash fic. It just means that if you are here to read a 'WE', I have little to offer except by means of flashbacks. 

Thank you, and terribly sorry if this has inconvenienced you in any way!

_**Reviews**_

**Will O' the Wisp**: Thank you very much! I really appreciate comments like that, since I try to write things that haven't been done before. I have a lot of spare time right now, so it looks like updates are happening every 2 days, but they do promise to slow down in January when school starts again. Hopefully you'll be back. Thanks again!

And now, I ask you too...


	5. Straightening

Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story are the property of the Walt Disney corporation. This is an amateur writing effort for entertainment purposes only.

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Chapter Five: Straightening

Elizabeth knew only one place where Will would go after the humiliations suffered at the hands of her family. He wouldn't head home because he'd have to face Mr. Brown, a fate worse than death at that moment for poor Mister Turner. Though he was normally passed out, Mr. Brown lost what little discretion he had when he was intoxicated and would not react pleasantly if Will returned early from his wedding rehearsal. Of course, he probably wouldn't react pleasantly if Will returned at all. Their relationship had always fluctuated between hate and dislike. The only reprieve Will looked forward to was Mr. Brown being unconscious.

So where else in the whole of Port Royal could the blacksmith be found after a grueling day of embarrassment? Well, Elizabeth only knew of one spot, and while it would be difficult to reach in her clothing, she felt she owed it to him. It was, after all, her family that caused all the problems.

As a child, she had spent her days under the watchful eyes of a nanny, but always managed to escape the confines of her gaudy prison for several hours or more using the multiple passages down and out of the Swann property. She sauntered across the front yard and out of the gate, forsaking the comforts of a carriage. The journey wasn't that long anyways.

Taking a sharp turn down an alley, Elizabeth found herself at the stone fort wall protecting all of their settlement. She smirked, knowing full well that he father trusted these walls to keep her from escaping. Yet beneath the overgrowth of vines was a small crevice left in the wake of a pirate attack most likely, one just big enough for a woman of Elizabeth's size to slide through. The skirt was a minor difficulty, but by bunching it up and dragging the bulk of it behind her, she was able to slip through without marking up the lovely new gown her father had purchased for her. It was imperative that she return to the manor without any sign that she had left.

The crevice led only to a steep incline of rock that lead down to a vast beach below. Ne'er as she could tell, she was the only one who knew of such a passage, since every time she came there the sandy cove was empty.

Jogging now, knowing that she was getting closer, she descended and leapt to the sand. Her energy, however, only landed her face first in the sand with a mouthful of grit. Spitting feverishly and dusting herself off, Elizabeth was surprised to find a hand offered directly in front of her face.

"Quite the fall you took there, ma'am," a low voice spoke eloquently, laden with an accent one could only describe as 'true Londoner'. Having believed herself to be alone, Elizabeth was greatly confused at the other presence now with her, but accepted the hand nonetheless.

The grip was strong and in an instant, she was on her feet once more, staring into the face of her rescuer. Though and inch or two shorter than she, the gentleman was broader shouldered. His hair was dark brown, hanging in a ponytail halfway down his back at the time and tied with a crimson ribbon, the top hidden by a black tricorn to match his coat. He had green eyes which stood out quite vividly from his pale skin, the true mark of a nobleman especially in the Caribbean where the sun baked even those who stayed indoors. A small black mustache and beard adorned his lip and chin, distinguished but not overdone. The same went for his wardrobe – simple, but not cheap. The silver buckles on the coat gleamed in the sun, and the vest, shirt, and trousers beneath were all pressed and clean.

"Better, ma'am?" he inquired. Elizabeth was now fighting the urge to spit, knowing that it was inappropriate to do so, especially in the company of a man who was not her husband. The gentleman seemed to sense her discomfort and offered her a handkerchief, seemingly produced from nowhere.

"Clean your tongue," he suggested. "Chewing sand isn't healthy at all."

Unable to speak in order to protest, Elizabeth did as he said, turning her face from him so he wouldn't see. The gentleman hardly seemed offended. He just waited patiently for her to finish.

"I don't think you want this back," she said with a nervous laugh, looking from the handkerchief to the man's face. He laughed as well and shook his head.

"No, thank you ma'am, best to leave it where it belongs," he pulled it from her fingers and cast it out to the wind, allowing it to drift into the water before he looked to her once again. "I wasn't expecting anyone to come down this way."

"I was actually looking for someone," Elizabeth said. "But you say this place is empty?"

"Aside from you and I? Yes ma'am."

The thought made her nervous, although the man seemed hardly the type to attempt anything. Though Elizabeth had heard stories from the Court of even the most charming gentlemen turning sour when left alone with a woman. She smiled and glanced back at the fort.

"I should probably be going," she said.

"As should I. Charmed to have met you ma'am. Careful on the rocks!" he bowed graciously and walked off down the beach without another look in her direction.

Dusting off her gown, Elizabeth sighed deeply. The whole trip had been useless, and now she was left to search the rest of Port Royal for her estranged fiancée. _Well, I suppose I could always check his house_, she thought with a shrug, and headed back the way she came.

Will lived not far from the Manor, though she was definitely out of her territory now. Born into privilege, Elizabeth had barely cast a glance into the cheaper side of living until she reached the Caribbean. Only then did she see the stark contrast between her way of life and everyone else's. Will's living conditions were less than satisfactory, and once married he would become a permanent resident of Swann Manor. But until then, her father maintained veto power over all lodgers, and William was definitely not on his quest list.

His apartment was immersed completely in the poverty stricken streets of Port Royal. Festering with rats and insects, Elizabeth knew it was a miracle he had not been overcome with sickness yet. She thanked her lucky stars that he was strong enough to be immune…for the time being.

Upon entering the Brown Blacksmith shop, Elizabeth found her lover hard at work, unleashing his frustrations upon yet another sword. The hammer struck so hard that spark flew absolutely everywhere, and Elizabeth was careful not to get to close for fear her skirt may catch flame. She watched as he pounded the kinks out of the metal in order to transform it into a flat sheet, fit for a blade; acting out what he so desperately urged to do in life. She could see the questions burning in his gaze, the ones that pondered why life itself could not be as malleable as hot steel. Why could people not smooth as easily as the metal he now worked? Why could he only do right when he wasn't with anyone else in the world?

He didn't say a word, but he knew she was there. She could feel it, like another presence in the room. Will Turner had a strange sixth sense for other people, especially those he loved. This was likely because Will Turner had so few in the world; just a noble woman and a pirate, both of which were at the time out of reach.

His movements slowed, soothed by her company. Sometimes all she had to do was just look at him and everything became more gentle, even the cold shoulder of her family. Their eyes met in desperation, his own the epitome of grief because at the moment he felt as if he was like the stubborn knots of metal he furiously at. Only unlike most, he refused to straighten. There were aspects of himself that he could not change – his origins, his lineage – and while the rest of the world stared only at that, Elizabeth saw him for the sword he was about to become.

If that day ever came.

"They don't mean anything, Will," she said. "You shouldn't let them get to you."

"Easier said than done," he replied, looking back at the metal before him. He struck it again, hard before placing it back in the hearth. Will dropped against the ledge heavily, holding himself upright with the last of his strength. His arms had been so overworked prior to Elizabeth's arrival they shook.

"Will…" she was begging him now. He stared into the flames and couldn't pull his gaze away, overwhelmed by his own insignificance. "Will, look at me."

Her voice called him from the fire and he finally turned, but couldn't hold his gaze for more than a second before it dropped again. Elizabeth took it upon herself to make the situation better and moved up to him. "Will, I chose you, remember? It's my choice, and I chose you."

"It's more than that," he said quietly, eyes on the orange glow of molten steel once again. "I'm nothing more than a boy you dragged out of the ocean, Elizabeth. I'll never be a sailor or a nobleman…I'll never been anything than the son of a pirate, a blacksmith's apprentice…"

"But that's why I chose you," she reasoned, finally attracting his gaze. "Noblemen are a dime a dozen, sailors more so. But you are the most genuine man that I have ever known Will. You are sweet, and kind, and tolerant."

"But a pauper first and forever," he reminded her. "It won't matter how good I am or how much we love each other. You family will never accept us."

"So be it," Elizabeth said bravely. "If that's what it means than I still choose you, Will."

"I won't let you give up your family for me."

"You mean more to me then they ever will," she said, placing her hand on his.

"They're your family, Elizabeth. They will always be there."

"Then we will face them together."

They were so close now. She could feel his breath on her skin, his hand on hers only intensifying their need to be near one another again. Their eyes closed at the same moment and they leaned in to kiss one another.

"Ahem," a voice said from the door. Will nearly shot himself. He knew that voice and it meant that the single worst day of his life hadn't ended yet.

"Commodore Norrington," he said, turning to face the stoic soldier. Looking particularly pompous that day, the Commodore barely regarded Will and turned his sights immediately on Elizabeth.

"The Governor requested that I track you and your 'fiancée' down for supper," he said with a sneer. "Though I dare say I caught you at an awkward time. Heaven forbid that Governor Swann discover you were without a chaperone. It might put an awful strain on the marriage…such as it is."

Elizabeth looked back to Will. "I'll see you at supper than?"

He sighed. There was nothing more he wanted to do with the Swann family today, except perhaps go on a murderous rampage, but Will closed his eyes and nodded 'yes'.

* * *

**_Reviews_**

**_taurusbaby0509_**: I'm so happy to read that you're enjoying it thus far! Yes, the Swanns would probably be very disappointed when considering who their beloved Elizabeth chose over Commodore Norrington. Meh, they'll get their's. Lol. Thanks again!


	6. The Better Man

Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story are the property of Walt Disney Productions. This is an amateur writing effort for entertainment purposes only.

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Chapter Six: The Better Man

"William Turner!" Amelia Swann, Elizabeth's aunt shouted coldly as she marched up to him from the great hall. She looked a fright, as usual, but that evening she was even more of one. Having shaved off her eyebrows years ago and drawn them on every day since, she had a habit of getting more and more surprised on a daily basis, so much so that it was impossible to read her facial expressions. The only thing that changed were her eyes, which were narrowed slits at that point, and her lips, which were pursed so tightly they ceased to exist on her face.

He thought at first she was going to slap him, but he doubted she could lift her arm in a dress as tight as the one she was wearing. It clung to her angular little body, causing the bones to jut out even more, giving her a disgusting, skeletal appearance like a demon from Will's nightmares. Just as he thought, she didn't even try to raise a hand at him. The fabric would have snapped.

"I always knew you were a coward, Turner, but how dare you insult this family by buggering off during your own rehearsal! Weatherby's paying a fortune for this wedding, you ungrateful little worm. An arm and a leg is more like it, and all you do is squander the fortunes he has rained upon you."

Will toned her out, and was very thankful when Elizabeth emerged from the crowd, grabbed him by the hand, and pulled him away. "You're an angel," he whispered, his ears ringing from the woman's screech, but it was mercifully sinking into the background.

"She's been shouting now for over an hour," Elizabeth said with a small laugh. "Father's been pouring copious amounts of brandy down her throat to get her to shut up."

She giggled like a school girl, and even Will found himself laughing at the comment.

Finding a quiet corner with which to avoid the other guests with, Will and Elizabeth spent the evening in silence, watching the crowd. She whispered in his ear about the scandals of her relatives. "You see my cousins, Maura and Tierney? Neither of them are my uncles'."

"You're joking."

"NO! Aunt Agnes has more feelings for the manservant than she does her husband."

"That's terrible."

"Not really when you see Uncle Rupert."

"Elizabeth, you're terrible."

They were laughing together. It may as well have been a casual meeting between the two. Elizabeth was discussing the most inappropriate thing she could come up with and Will was trying not to encourage her, though it was difficult not to. She was so strong willed and truly just wanted her wedding to go over smoothly. Any attempt to ease Will's nerves was well worth the effort.

"She's the terrible one."

"We're not having any male servants," Will decided. "Problem solved."

Elizabeth laughed heartily. "So, what, you can have all these lovely little maids to cavort with while I'm a fat, pregnant woman?"  
Will just smiled. He didn't have a witty response to that, but Elizabeth saw it in his eyes. His heart was on his sleeve that night, for all to see that cared to look, but only she found it. Their hands came together, her gloved fingers smoothing over his callused ones, running up his wrist beneath his suit coat.

"Ah, Elizabeth, there you are," Weatherby Swann had found them, even through the crowd, but his eyes were on his daughter, not on the gentleman by her side. "I wanted to introduce you to a very special guest. Sir Andrew Morgan, this is my daughter Elizabeth."

From behind him, a young man emerged from the crowd. Elizabeth recognized him immediately; his eyes were unforgettable. It was the gentleman from the beach, looking just as exquisite as he had then. Granted, the tricorn had disappeared, and the black coat had been replaced with a forest green one that went with his eyes. She rose from her seat and offered him her hand, which he took.

"Pleasure to meet you, sir," she said, eyes frantic. They met his and begged him not to mention their meeting earlier. The man smiled and kissed her hand.

"And a pleasure you as well," he said, eyes gleaming with mischief. He released her hand.

"And this is my fiancée, Will Turner," she said quickly. Will was already on his feet to meet him. Andrew grinned.

"And what a lucky man he is. Honoured, Will Turner," he said, shaking the blacksmith's hand.

"Sir Andrew just got back from an expedition in Africa," Weatherby said.

"Oh, Weatherby, let's not talk shop," he replied. "I hardly think your daughter and future son-in-law want to know about the day-to-day of a humble doctor."

"Humble cannot be used to describe a man such as yourself, Sir Andrew, I can assure you," the message was clear: Sir Andrew was going to be gloated about whether he wished to be or not. "Graduate of the finest medical school in Britain only to be knighted two years later for his research in the Mediterranean, Europe, and Africa. Heir to not one but two fortunes, that of his father and godfather; and naturally, completely single."

Governor Swann's eyes were on his daughter now with the last words. She was, however, looking away.

"You must be very proud, Sir Andrew," she said.

"I suppose I am," he replied with a nod. "Now, come on Weatherby and show me that great sword collection of yours."

"Oh," Elizabeth had found an in. "Most of those were actually constructed by Will."

Her eyes were back on her father now: two can play at this game.

"Oh, you're a blacksmith, Will?" Andrew's voice was clear of any condescending tone. Either he was a very good actor or truly interested in Will's work.

"Not nearly as talented as his superior, Master Brown," Weatherby added quickly.

"When Master Brown isn't intoxicated," Elizabeth recoiled.

"Well, my own collection is based mostly on Brown's work," Weatherby said coldly. Will was now regretting ever using such a façade to do his work. The Governor would always see it as the conviction of a drunken old fool.

"What a shame. I was looking to procure a weapon while I was here," Andrew was looking back at Will, this time with an expression of great curiosity. But Will knew that there was something more beneath such a look. Andrew wasn't just inquiring about a sword; Will had piqued his interest about something.

"You are free to take whatever you wish from my collection, Sir Andrew," Weatherby added.

"That is a very kind invitation, Weatherby, but I'm afraid I would most certainly be lost in choosing an appropriate weapon. However, if Master Turner here would volunteer to assist me, I might avoid a bad decision."

All eyes were on Will now. The Governor's were on fire, but that was to be expected. Elizabeth's beamed with pride and Andrew's were warm and inviting, the sort of eyes Will wasn't used to seeing in Swann Manor. He was speechless.

Elizabeth assisted him. "With the governor's permission, Will would be honoured."

It was official. Elizabeth had won the match. Weatherby couldn't deny the great Sir Andrew anything, not with him being such a celebrity. He gritted his teeth.

"Of course," he said. "This way, gentlemen. Oh, and Elizabeth, may I have a word with you please?"

Seeing that Sir Andrew was settled in the armory, Weatherby turned on his daughter. "He's a fine match, Elizabeth."

"And I'm quite certain he'll make a lovely husband someday…for someone else," she responded curtly, turning on a heel as she prepared to leave.

Her father's arm blocked her path. "This is not a game, Elizabeth."

"It looks that way to me, the way you parade potential suitors around."

"Sir Andrew will inherit a fortune when his father passes!"

"Give a man a fish, he'll eat for a day. Teach a man to fish, he'll eat for the rest of his life," she recited, obviously referencing Will.

"Give a man a fortune and brilliance and he'll feed a wife for the rest of his life. Take all that away and you have Will Turner."

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**Author's Notes  
**I'm very sorry this chapter took so long to post. My laptop doesn't have a floppy drive, so I have to burn CD's whenever I want to transfer files. Since they aren't the cheapest commodity, I have to reduce the amount of times I burn, so I waited till I had a few completed chapters before burning the disk. So the next few will be quickly posted. Hope you enjoy! Hope your holidays went well!

**Reviews**:

**_taurusbaby0509:_**I hope your Christmas was equally as merry! My own was a little confusing (I have two houses) and we were celebrating on either end of the province. It's a little difficult with all the travelling but I got to see everyone, so I can't be disappointed. Sorry that this chapter took so long. The next few will not be so delayed.

**_alexwacrap_**: THANKS!


	7. What Can Go Wrong

Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.

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Chapter Seven: What Can Go Wrong…

Governor Swann's sword collection, as it turned out, had about as much Mister Brown as it did Andrew. Will remembered making every single one of them to commemorate some momentous occasion in the Governor's reign over Port Royal, and the ones he couldn't recall clearly were indicated by cheesy paintings the Governor had funded.

"I'm looking for something light, but durable," Sir Andrew explained. "I travel so often, and the Caribbean is quite the rugged terrain, wouldn't you say so?"

"I would have to," Will agreed with a slight grin, enjoying the company as he so infrequently did these days. Andrew was courteous and respondent to courtesy; he was well spoken and eloquent, but did not bombard William with over intelligent conversation to show off. He was approachable, a polar opposite to the Swann family behaviour.

"They say you've got pirates galore down here," he said. "Surely that isn't true."

"Certainly no more than London," Will replied.

"Oh, please. London has no pirates, merely a growing number of uncivilized sailors." The humour was evident in the statement and both men were laughing together at once. Sir Andrew however stopped suddenly and looked to the swords on the wall.

"See something you like?" Will asked curiously, turning his sights in the direction Andrew had. Three blades hung in his line of vision, and it wasn't until Andrew pointed to the bottom most weapon that Will knew which one he was interested in.

It had not been his best work. The sword was a replica of one of the better looking blades he had seen once on a ship long ago, as far back as Will could remember. Even after countless hours spent taming the steel, drawing diagrams, and reworking past failures, Will still found himself unable to re-forge it accurately.

Still, his attempt was worthy enough to make the Governor's wall of fame, amidst blades of both English and French descent, though this sword was neither. It was single sided with a slight curve to the blade, not at all the elegant and flexible rapier or the dual sided, straight bladed broad sword. The metal appeared delicate, but Will knew it to be the strongest on the planet when seen in combat. Also, the handle was longer than most, stretching out from under the crossguard several inches more than on traditional weaponry.

"I have only ever seen such a sword once before," Sir Andrew stated, taking the sword from the wall without awaiting permission from the Governor. It was as if there were two starkly different Andrew's all of a sudden. The first had been the well-mannered socialite, charming Governor Swann. Now there was a determined, curious Andrew Morgan, one which hid quite well beneath the mask of London aristocrat. This one was impatient, awaiting an answer. "Not in London though. This design hails from the East, does it not?"

"I don't know. I only saw it once as well, when I was a child."

"These aren't common in the Caribbean."

"I grew up in London," Will corrected him.

"Oh, sorry," Sir Andrew replied. "I did not mean to judge. I hope I have not offended you."

"No offense taken," Will said with a small laugh. In fact out of everything that had been presumed about him recently, Sir Andrew's was a minor infraction.

Sliding the sword from its sheath, Sir Andrew stared at the blade with a look of awe on his face. All his attention was focused on the sword, knowing it from some distant memory but unable to place where on earth he had seen it.

Will however, knew all to well where he had seen it. When he was a boy of five, possibly six, his father had sailed out of his life on a new adventure, this time taking along a crew of varying nationalities. Along with them, a sailor had carried such a sword. And he had wielded it so beautifully Will wanted to remember it always. Unlike the other swords which were constant reminders of the Governor's history, this one was purely William's.

However, he did not tell this to Sir Andrew.

"En garde," Sir Andrew said suddenly, tossing the weapon to Will.

"Excuse me?" Will asked, catching it in his hands. Sir Andrew reached for another and tossed the scabbard aside, handling the weapon expertly.

"I am no fool, Will Turner. The Governor would not feel so threatened of a mere blacksmith," he said, about-facing the wall. "I have orders to seduce your future bride, Master Turner, and that fact alone should infuriate you enough to attack."

His eyes narrowed. The thought hurt, but was unsurprising nonetheless. He knew the Governor was planning something such as this, but never expected to hear about it. He cast a longing glance out the door, knowing that the Governor would not be pleased to see his collection being disturbed.

But William's rage would not be released so quickly. And even if Weatherby disapproved, his behaviour with Elizabeth was far worse than his with a sword.

So he tossed off the scabbard and backed into the room.

Sir Andrew did not appear to be built for swordplay at first glance. He was first and foremost a scholar as indicated by his small frame. But Will took notice of the gentleman's excellent form as he took on an offensive position. Whoever had taught him, trained him well, till his form was near perfect. Will tried to forget how sloppy his technique must have seemed to a man of the court, but Andrew only seemed more pleased that he was being humoured. The smirk that overtook his features caused every klaxon in Will's body to flare into allertness at the sight, cautious of Sir Andrew's intentions. Was he really just trying to be playful? Or was he just another sinister aristocrat sent to sabotage the wedding? And if he was, why would he reveal his intentions?

Such thoughts were forced quickly from Will's mind, seeing as how Sir Andrew advanced quickly and swung quickly toward the young blacksmith's head. Relying on his agility and height for advantage, Will parried and lashed outward, knocking the small scholar back towards the wall from whence he came. Their sword clashed in a flurry of sparks, blades striking with so much force Will's overtaxed biceps shivered. Yet the harder he pressed towards Will, the more strength pushed backwards from the smaller man. Whatever physical prowess the man hid, it was enough, for the time being, to toss Will's weapon back from him.

With footwork that would make even Jack Sparrow green with envy, the aristocrat spun round, moving into a lunge. Will had precious little time to evade, taking several steps back from his opponent. Even still, he was forced to bend back in order to avoid being impaled by the sword tip.

Sir Andrew's fingers twitched suddenly on the sword hilt. His weapon was unfamiliar to Will, but the cold sound of a, "Snap!" jogged his memory a little. Though it was not his work, the design was undeniable. It was a snake sword, something he would have liked to know at the beginning of their melee.

He twisted out of the way, just as the blade lurched forward into the space where his chest had once been. Sir Andrew swung the whip around twice before retracting it and advanced once more, forced to take a defensive position by the rampaging Will, who had the aristocrat forced against the wall in only several steps.

"You're disregarding the rules of engagement," he snapped suddenly.

"Come now, Will. It was only a bit of fun. Feel free to improvise as you please," Sir Andrew urged. Will's eyes narrowed, unamused. Still, he found himself humouring the aristocrat nonetheless and reaching for another sword, this time of English design and his own make. It would be easier to handle than the foreign sword Sir Andrew had chosen for him.

The two moved into the center of the room again, their swords crossed menacingly. Will was no longer so concerned with the differences between their stature. He was set upon winning now, a fitting way to prove himself a worthy match for Elizabeth. Even if Sir Andrew had no interest in her, the snake sword had been a rather nasty trick, and Will resented ever agreeing to dual. But he couldn't very well leave a coward, and with his own honour at stake, he found himself engaged in one of the most fast paced battles of his life.

Sparks scattered across the floor from the blades swinging madly through the air. Silver burned into their eyes as the three weapons slashed, parried, thrust, and retracted. All their while their bearers attempted to outdo one another with techniques of their own. Will's footwork was smooth and elegant, giving him ample opportunity to show off with several twists and turns. His coat spun outward, the dull brown fabric flaring outward behind him on the air. Not to be outdone, Sir Andrew also entertained the blacksmith with several moves of his own. He seemed to treat their duel as a dance of sorts, his footwork always timed and true. His speed was a force to be reconned with, seeing as how he could turn on a dime, whipping his sword back and forth expertly. Will had a sudden advantage though, now that he wielded two blades.

Aggravated with their progress, Sir Andrew unleashed his snake sword once more, this time holding his finger down hard on the trigger for the sword to whip outward again. Flicking his wrist, the limp fragments of the blade clashed with his, winding around his weapons and pulling them sharply from his grasp. Will, however, was not going to be outdone by a obviously cheap maneuver, and gave one last pull on his swords before releasing them, taking a moment to aim them in Sir Andrew's direction.

The gentleman was blindsided by the flat side of the blade, knocked back. Will rushed for the wall and reached for another sword.

Suddenly there was a loud explosion from far off on the shoreline. Outside, one of the lookouts shouted, "PIRATES IN THE COVE! WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!"

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**Reviews**

**_Ailidh_**: I'm so happy to read that you're enjoying it! And I highly recommend the trailer for the sequel, although it's fairly short. It does contain some great CGI though, and the storyline seems impressive so far, so naturally I'm excited. But it's Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom, so I'm pretty much excited anyways, lol.

**Notes**: Even if you don't like what you're reading, I thrive off of feedback. So please, review!


	8. Will Go Wrong

Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story pertaining to the movie, _The Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl_, are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.

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Chapter Eight: Will Go Wrong

The tattered sails of the Trailblazer were clearly seen on the horizon, drawing nearer as it closed in on the Black Pearl slowly but surely. By now, the tide was against them, but Jack would not be outdone so easily, especially by that of an inferior ship. He slammed the telescope shut, eyes narrowing in frustration. Now, he was in dire need of a plan.

"Captain!" Ana's voice shattered his temporary reverie and summoned his attention back to the helm. Her finger was pointed off towards the island, directing his vision into a secluded cove. And there, amidst the stone peaks of the Caribbean, lay his goal.

"The Wayfarer's Redemption," she said, but her words fell on deaf ears. Words, after all, did no justice for the mightiest ship of the Caribbean. Second only to the Black Pearl, of course, but Jack Sparrow surrendered his ego for the moment when he was in the presence of Bootstrap's pride and joy. Paid for with money from Bootstrap's own pocket, it was a work of pure beauty. With a fortified hull and a broad base, the Wayfarer was completely at home in any sort of terrain, especially that of the Caribbean storms. It was a perfect match for Bootstrap's adventurous nature. But the crowning glory of the Wayfarer was the mermaid motif atop its bow. The gorgeous craving was solid mahogany in the likeness of Bootstrap's dear wife and beloved mother of Will Turner Jr. Her face was slightly upturned, away from the water, and if one were to look close enough, tears would be traveling slowly down her cheeks as if she were in a constant state of mourning for her absent husband.

For several minutes, Jack could not take his eyes from it. He found himself leaping back into his memory when William 'Bootstrap' Turner ruled over the Caribbean like a God. As one of the finest pirates ever to sale, he relished the opportunity to focus on the past.

"What of the Trailblazer, Cap'n?" Gibbs asked him.

Jack's eyes narrowed, his gaze moving back to Ana Maria. "Why don't you take them on a cruise around the Caribbean?" he suggested jokingly.

"Aye, aye," she said mischievously.

"Mr. Gibbs, prepare a boat. We're going ashore."

* * *

He wasn't exactly sure what he was going to do, but Jack was quite certain that he had to manage two things. One was that Ana had to keep the Trailblazer busy enough for him to approach the Wayfarer. Second was that he had to determine whether or not Bootstrap left the map on board. It wasn't unnatural for a Captain to leave a ship to his First Mate after retiring or death. In fact, Jack inherited the Pearl when Bootstrap managed to amass a fortune large enough for the Wayfarer's construction. Between Jack and Barbossa, the good captain had handed down the mighty Pearl to Sparrow and left them to sort out their differences on their own time.

Well, the stories of how that worked out were legendary, but Jack managed to win the Pearl back in the end. So all's well that end's well, and he wouldn't have traded his ship for all the Wayfarer Redemptions in the world. But of all the ships in the Caribbean, it was certainly the most enigmatic. Since Bootstrap's demise, Jack had received not a whisper of its activities, whether legal or not. He was under the impression that it had most likely been out of the area for a long time, perhaps under the control of a foreign captain who had been chosen as Bootstrap's successor.

Keeping low in the dingy, Jack couldn't take his eyes off her. Bootstrap's design had been flawless. Even Gibbs found himself staring in wonder at the proclaimed 'Pirate King's' ship.

They rowed into the cove cautiously, knowing how paranoid pirates could be. Especially in Port Royal, what with Norrington guarding it like a hawk. Nightfall would be upon them shortly, keeping them as hidden as they could be. And by the looks of the Sparrow's mansion, the Port would be quiet that evening. Everyone had been invited to a massive party, it seemed, including the smaller ranks. Chances were, the meeting between he and the Captain of the Wayfarer would go quickly and quietly, just the way he preferred it.

Suddenly, the empty expanse of deck space that had once greeted him became occupied by a lone sailor. If he were the Captain, he certainly wasn't dressed like it. His clothes were loose and rugged, hanging off his well toned body. A thick layer of black hair hung in knots on his head, halfway down his back. Beneath that, a pair of dark, almond shaped eyes scanned the cove and came to rest on the tiny dingy advancing upon him.

"You've twelve pistols aimed at your heads, good gentlemen, so kindly state your business before they assume you're a threat."

He spoke well for a pirate, and Jack would have been a fool to think him uneducated. He held himself too highly for such a thing, and the behavioural traits he exhibited were polar opposites to that of most buccaneers.

"Just inspecting the precious little cove you and your men have found yourselves," Jack replied, feigning ignorance. The man didn't seem to be fooled, but he continued his act anyways. "This wouldn't happen to be Bootstrap's old ship, would it?"

"Not since his death," the man shrugged. "Bootstrap happened to leave it to a son before passing."

"And you wouldn't happen to be that son, would you?" Jack asked, his blood running cold at the sound of Bootstrap having a son. If the whelp inherited his treasure map too there'd be hell to pay.

"That's not really the purpose of our conversation, now is it sir?" the man replied coyly.

Jack's eyes narrowed. _You tricky devil,_ he thought with a smirk. _But no one outsmarts Captain Jack Sparrow_.

"My associate and I were pondering just what's got Port Royal all quiet. Surely the great Commodore Norrington has better things to do than attend the Governor's garden parties?"

"Not with the Commodore's daughter marrying a blacksmith," the man revealed.

"Now that's interesting," Jack whispered diabolically. He turned his sights on the man once more. "You're not talking about Bootstrap's whelp are you?"

"One in the same."

"Pirates finally moving up in the world, are they?"

"Indeed they are," the man laughed again. Jack's eyes gleamed. Several more seconds of conversation would have the man wrapped around his finger.

"Well, this day has been full of surprises. First my associate and I find our old Captain Bootstrap's ship – a sight for sore eyes – and then find out that the late, great Captain's son is to be married to a Governor's daughter."

"Are you saying you once sailed under Bootstrap?"

"Best year's of my life," Jack said, mocking tears. The man seemed pretty convinced he was telling the truth, and while Jack's emotions were very real, they would not have manifested themselves so dramatically.

"Small world," the man replied.

"Very small," Jack grinned madly. "Say, Mr. Gibbs was just inquiring as to who the Wayfarer was sailing under now. Seeing as how us being bound by a ship and all, how's about we meet Bootstrap's successor?"

"Wish you could, but he's gone ashore for the evening. I wouldn't expect him back until dawn, at the very least."

_Shot down, Jackie-boy. _

He was about to dismiss himself from the conversation when a loud explosion rocked the entire island. Jack whipped around just in time to see the large cannon ball splash into the water not far from their dingy, sending shockwaves throughout the tide pools and soaking the two pirates to the bone. The man was on attention in an instant, bellowing out orders that Jack couldn't make out in his fervor to comprehend what had just happened. Gibbs had taken it upon himself to start rowing, just as another cannon ball exploded from the Trailblazer, headed in their direction.

Pulling out his telescope, Jack inspected the situation. The Captain of the the Trailblazer was waving merrily to him, a smile on his face. Either he had seen them disembark or had simply noticed the dingy by mistake during their pursuit of the Pearl. Either way, his plan to distract them had failed, and another cannon was going off.

Jack's ears strained to hear beyond the loud cannon roars to what was happening on the Wayfarer. The man on board was shouting to someone out of his sight, but the words were unmistakable.

"Run to the Governor's house," the man said quickly. "Tell Morgan to head back here immediately or this ship sails without a Captain."

The name sent more shivers down Jack's spine than the implication of Will. Morgan was a name he hadn't heard in years, one of great importance to him. His eyes unconsciously drifted to the palms of his hands, hidden by leather flaps to assist in thievery. Underneath them gleamed the white scars of a deal gone horribly wrong.

_"Ye understand me Jack? This means forever. It means that you both are bound to one another till death."_

"Morgan," he murmured to himself, then looked to Gibbs who was rowing for cover. "Mr. Gibbs, we're going ashore. We've a party to crash."

* * *

**Author's Notes**

I know how every klaxon in your bodies must be going off the moment I brought up a character insert once more, especially a female one. However, I can assure you that I have the utmost respect for the characters created in the original canon and though I have handed this young woman a fairly significant role, she could never outshine the good captain or his seaworthy sidekick, Will Turner. However, if her presence offends you, I completely empathize. Inserts are never a pleasant sight, even well developed ones. So if you have any concerns or complaints, I would love to hear from you. But I will not tolerate flames on my review board. If you do have a problem with the character and wish to attack me personally, send me an e-mail. I can't say I'll reply but at least you know that your unintelligent blabber will go somewhere. Cheers!

**Reviews**

**_SugarHighNutcase_**: LMAO! Love the name, lol. Oh yes, the sequel is going to be good regardless. I'm so happy they've got Jack Sparrow coming back. The movie wouldn't be the same without him. And I'm very happy to read that you're enjoying the story. I was quite nervous, seeing as how this is one of my first fanfic. And don't worry, Will and Jack are going to reunite very soon!

**_alexwacrap_**: Oh, gosh, the days aren't going by fast enough till I can watch the movie! I can only imagine how amazing it's going to be, what with the casting and all. Bill Nighy is my hero and he'll play an excellent anything. They could cast him as a talking rutabaga and the movie would still be better off with him in it. And how could I forget Johnny Depp, who needs no introduction as the only reason the first _Pirates_ ever succeeded as a film? Not that I have anything against Orlando…

**_taurusbaby0509_**: No worries! I myself was away from the computer for a while and couldn't update as fast as I'd liked. It's nice to know that you came back though! I love it when there are regular reviewers!

_**THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REVIEWS! As authors yourselves (for the most part) you understand just how much even the most constructively critical of comments are appreciated. Just knowing that someone is enjoying your work is amazing. So please, keep them coming!**_

_**Sincerely, Serpent.**_


	9. Bullets and Shadows

Chapter Nine: Bullets and Shadows

William felt the ground rumble once more and turned to look at Sir Andrew. The young gentleman had already set down his weapons and was approaching the window, eyes wild to see what was being destroyed by the cannon blast.

Outside, the cove was occupied by two ships that Will could see. The first was narrower than most, built for a false sense of speed. The idea was that the thinner the base, the faster the ship would move, but this was not the case. Ships with that feature couldn't even hold their own in the slightest of storms, and even tiny waves could aid in their capsizing.

The other he recognized immediately, having spent plenty of time around it. It was the Black Pearl.

"Jack…" he whispered under his breath. What on earth was he doing back in Port Royal?

Outside in the hall, one of the Swann relatives finally felt the blast of the long nines and was shrieking about the attack. Sir Andrew groaned audibly and rolled his eyes.

"Rich people," he scoffed, and ran over to the Governor's swords again. He grabbed two of the most conventional looking blades and tossed one to William once more. "They'll be heading for their rooms next to salvage anything they can find, but I wouldn't linger. I would fetch that lovely bride of yours and head to the nearest safe house you can get to."

"What about you?" Will asked. For a nobleman with little experience with pirates, Sir Andrew was certainly being calm about it.

"I've a ship to catch," he replied with a small grin. "It was an honour meeting you William Turner. I just sorry we couldn't have had more time together."

He bowed lowly, even as the house creaked on its very foundation from the cannon fire below. Dust and wood shaving puffed out of the rafters onto them, but his face remained placid, as if they were parting civilly after a dinner party. Will had no idea why, but he found that he too was lowering into a bow, one that could show he had obvious respect for the person it was for.

Sir Andrew clambered out the window. Will broke into a run for the foyer.

* * *

Jack Sparrow scampered up the beach to escape the growing ferocity of the cannon's blast. He cursed himself for not having been more discrete about disembarking, but he needed to find the Wayfarer and he needed to get to it fast. Gibbs, of course, was not as forgiving as he was, and would even be less so if Jack tried to justify himself. So he stuck to running because it was what he was best at the time. 

The militia was already taking action and in all the chaos, he and Gibbs slipped by unnoticed. Two pirates, even one as renowned as Jack Sparrow, were overlooked when compared to a rampaging vessel in the middle of the cove.

Seething crowds of frantic citizens shuffled here and there on the streets, making the ascent to Swann manor.

Two thoughts circled Jack Sparrow's brain as he and Gibbs moved. One was of Will. He already knew that Bootstrap had a habit of sending heirlooms to the whelp. It was very possible that he had been the recipient of the map piece, but one mystical pirate trinket was enough. Two was just downright unnatural.

The second was of Morgan. No, he wasn't expecting to find his sister at Port Royal, not after fifteen…nay, more than that…years of silence between the two. He hadn't even laid eyes on her since she was just a child. After a lifetime of spouting breasts and curves, he supposed he wouldn't even be able to recognize her.

"What's your plan than Captain?" Gibbs asked, half-serious, half-sarcastic.

He looked over his shoulder and flashed one of his dazzlers at Gibbs. He hoped it would compensate for the fact that at that particular moment, he didn't have a plan.

* * *

William rushed into the foyer. The Commodore was ushering people towards the fortress for safe housing, including Elizabeth. But she was too busy searching for him. When she found him at last through the crowds, she moved as quickly to his side as she possibly could. 

"WILL!" she shouted. "WILL! We've got to move."

Grabbing his hand, she lead him towards the door, only to have Norrington stand in their way.

"Is this your family's idea of an RSVP, Turner?"

"Out of the way, Commodore," he growled, but the man stood his ground.

"You've a lot of nerve, Turner, considering your behaviour lately."

"There's no time for this," Elizabeth snapped. "Come on Will."

"No, Elizabeth. I think its high time Mr. Turner faced the demons of Port Royal head-on, considering that's what's in your blood."

"We've no time for this," she shouted.

"You're right Elizabeth. WE'VE no time. Turner on the other hand will have all the time in the world."

She stomped on his foot suddenly, digging the heel of her shoe down upon his hard, so hard in fact that it started to bleed. The Commodore grunted and leapt out of the way, giving the two enough time to rush right past him and into the streets.

They stood for a moment and just watched the scene unfold, shocked by the state of things. The streets were a mess of nobles and peasants, their arms filled with belongings before passing by once more towards the fort. Fires were growing by the beach, inching slowly up the hill to meet the wall above.

And then they saw Jack Sparrow running through the crowds, and they suddenly understood why the world had - to a certain extent - ended.

* * *

"Jack!" Will shouted. 

"WILL!" the Captain shouted back, overjoyed suddenly by it all. His speed lessoned and he approached Will as nicely as he could. "So nice of you to still be alive…" _Hopefully, with my map piece._ "And Elizabeth…" his eyes came to fall on her rather ample bosom, an action which he was properly reprimanded for by the young aristocrat herself. He bore the red welt on his cheek with pride. "Nice of you to be alive too, Elizabeth."

She smiled sassily as another cannon ball rocked the shore.

"There's no time for this," Will said. "Come on."

"Now, now," Jack said, following after them in that familiar swagger of his. "There's plenty of time for this. I've only got one question that needs answering anyways Will and you can give me a yes or a no: do you have…"

A pistol shot exploded into the night, taking the three of them by surprise to have it fired so close in their immediate area. Sparks scattered against the pavement and people started screaming, some inarticulate while other's managed the statement, "THE PIRATES ARE ON THE ISLAND!"

Jack followed the direction of the shot quickly, but his gaze was held by Will's, whose eyes were looking away from it all. His face bore a slightly shocked expression, as if he had just been blindsided by Elizabeth's slap, but his face had visibly paled. His mouth dropped, and then his legs gave out from under him and he hit the ground.

Blood spilled out from underneath him.

Elizabeth shrieked. She lowered herself to his side, searching for a bullet wound. The task was hard, in the dark, harder still with the shooter advancing as he was. Jack pulled out his own pistol, fully loaded this time with several rounds, and took aim.

"LOWER YOUR WEAPON!" the shooter commanded. Jack disobeyed. "Lower your weapon or the woman dies with me, and then you've no one left but yourself, Jack Sparrow."

"Run…" a voice whispered from beneath her. Elizabeth looked down at Will once more. He spoke again softly, "Run now."

"Save your strength," she said.

"Do this Elizabeth, do this for me," he begged her breathlessly. She wasn't listening. "Elizabeth...years ago you dragged me from my death in the sea and never asked for anything but my kindness in return. Now it's my turn to pull you from the water's edge. So when I say run, honour me as you would a husband and _run_."

Jack slowly lowered his pistol, lips pursed tightly against the action. The shooter drew nearer in the dark, step by agonizing step. The bile rose quickly in Elizabeth's throat. She wanted to run, yes. Part of her was chastising herself for having stayed even as long as she had. She felt William's muscles contracting as he lifted himself into a sitting position, his hand tightening on his sword's handle.

Quick as lightning, William threw the sword into the air towards the assailant. His back was on fire, the bullet having embedded itself into his shoulder blade. And yet he managed to cry out for Elizabeth to run before falling back on the ground.

The last thing he felt was Elizabeth's hand moving over his cheek as she fled. Then the rest of the world faded to black.

* * *

_Author's Notes: _This chapter was supposed to be posted a while ago. Unfortunately, I've been having a little bit of trouble getting it to sound just right, but finally decided to just bite the bullet and go ahead. Sorry if it's not as good as it should be, but the rest of the story will get better! Scout's honour! I'm terribly sorry to have kept people waiting! 

**Reviews**:

**_Alexwacrap_**: Unfortunately, the party was already crashed by the time he got there. Silly Trailblazer. However, I can promise you that it ends with a jolly good wedding crashing, courtesy of Jack Sparrow himself. Sorry to disappoint! And I hope you'll still keep reading!

**_Taurusbaby0509_**: Hope I didn't make you wait too long! I will definitely be getting faster at posting now. Thanks for reviewing!


	10. The Fine Line

Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story pertaining to the movie _The Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl_ are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.

Warning: This chapter does include some fairly explicit - but brief - scenes of sexuality.

* * *

Chapter Ten: The Fine Line

The shadowy figure shouted in surprise as Will's sword embedded itself in his shoulder. His pistol fell to the ground as he fumbled with the slick hilt of the sword, trying to dislodge it from his limb. Jack took advantage of the distraction and kicked his pistol into his hand from the ground, re-aiming towards the man's heart.

But he never got the chance to fire. Throughout the chaotic screams and explosions around them, another pistol fired into the night. Jack could see the flame just over the shadow's shoulder. The figure went rigid, absorbing the bullet in his back, before falling face first onto the ground.

Sir Andrew advanced on the two. Jack Sparrow groaned, rolling his eyes. The nobleman would most certainly have him arrested for piracy. "This is the end, is it? Gonna have me hung?"

Instead, the young nobleman slapped him coldly across the cheek before delivering a quick punch to Jack's nose, knocking him out cold.

* * *

_To say that Morgan was tiny was the understatement of the year. She had to take three steps for every one of Jack's just to keep up, and was left jogging through the bustling streets of Tortuga. Jack kept a tight grip on her hand for fear he might lose her in the crowds, and after having dragged her the entire way, the last thing he wanted was to lose her in the seething masses of whores and pirates after getting this far. _

_Their destination was the harbour, but all of Tortuga looked the same to the young boy. Having lived in the countryside all his life, he could not comprehend the amount of people surrounding both he and his sister. They seethed like an overflowing bucket, spilling out over the sides of alleyways and buildings without any regard for their fellow man. Large breasted women swayed gently on all sides, their corsets too tight around their waists, causing a large amount of their bosom to be exposed. He pulled his eyes away, and made sure Morgan kept her eyes on the ground as if the very sight of them would spread whatever ailment had caused them to dress so foolishly. _

_"Care for a suck darling?" one of them addressed him, prying open the thick, mud crusted petticoat to reveal a naked breast underneath. Jack shook his head sheepishly and turned sharply, deciding to detour as much as possible in order to avoid these savage women and their less than appropriate garb. His mother would not have been caught dead in something as impractical as that, and Lord knows she had taught her children the same._

_"Spell God for me, Jack," she had once said._

_"G-O-D," he replied._

_"Now spell it backwards."_

_Jack couldn't. _

_Morgan, the incessant know-it-all, answered for him. "D-O-G."_

_He scowled at her._

_"D-O-G," his mother said, as if she hadn't heard Morgan's answer. "What's that spell?"_

_His brain fumbled with the syllables and sounds clumsily. 'D' had a hard sound – duh, day, dee – while 'O' was a vowel, much softer than any of the consonants. G could be hard or soft. D-OH-J? D-AU-GUH?_

_"Dog," Morgan blurted out, and walked out of the room, impatient with the game. Jack scowled again._

_His mother ignored her, and lowered before him. "D-O-G spells dog, Jack. You know what a dog is. don't you?" _

_That he did know, and he nodded quickly. _

_"And you know what God is, right?"_

_Another nod. His mother smiled sweetly at him. _

_"There's a lesson here, Jack, one I don't want you to forget. God is great, and God is good, but in that same word lies the exact opposite: Dog. And a dog is less than human, less than dirt, right?"_

_He nodded again, not quite understanding, but knowing that someday he would._

_That day in Tortuga he understood perfectly the difference between dogs and Gods. He watched as partly inebriated gentlemen slid coins down women's corsets, their eyes shifting over the swaying bodies like a starving man eyeing fresh meat. And then he saw the women beckon them into alleyways in order to perform unspeakable acts. _

_"Where's mummy?" Morgan asked._

_"Shut up," Jack snapped. He looked around desperately for a familiar face, finally finding one closest to the dock's edge. He stepped forward only to find Morgan was dead weight on the end of his arm, rooted to the spot. Turning, he found her staring wide eyed at a couple making love against the wall of a building._

_He too was stunned by what he saw. The last beams of sunset danced across the water and were reflected against the woman's rich chocolate covered skin, down the length of her matted hair and sweat covered breasts. Her partner was a gruff looking man around fifty, pounding into her feverishly. Yet somehow, the crudeness of it all was washed away with that mystifying sunset._

_"Come on," he said, yanking his sister out of her reverie._

_The man he recognized went by the name of Barnacles, and was a close friend of Jack's father's. Though it had been a while since they had last met, Jack's memory was quite good for that of a child, and he confidently tapped the man on his thigh._

_"WHAT THE…!" the robust man leapt round violently. Jack backed away, dragging Morgan with him. The entire dock shook from Barnacles' weight connecting with it once more, and several people seemed to think that the whole port would collapse from the action. They ducked for cover. _

_"Oh, blimey, Jack? Jack Sparrow is that you?"_

_"Aye," he replied, as was traditional of the men to greet one another in Tortuga. He'd heard his father use the word a million times at home when addressing his ship mates. _

_"And little Morgan, how are you two? I would have thought you two to be snug in bed at home at this home?" _

_Barnacles was sweating, Jack noticed. Profusely too, like the cat that swallowed the canary. He was hiding something and Jack knew it, but he pretended not to notice. Another thing he had learned from his father was that asking questions around these men was a bad thing. _

_"I'm looking for my father." It wasn't a question or a request. It was a command. And though Jack was small of stature, he knew that Barnacles would obey. His father was well known throughout these parts._

_"Right, right, he's uh…well, he should be round here somewhere. I'll see if I can scrounge up the old bast…" Barnacles stopped himself from swearing, "Right. Wait here you two and I'll be back in two shakes."_

_He left them quickly, confused easily around them. Jack watched him disappear into the crowds._

_"Why can't we go with him?"_

_"Shhh!" he hushed her again. "Just don't talk until I tell you, okay? He's gone to find dad."_

_"But why can't we…"_

_"Morgan!" she bit her tongue, on the verge of crying again. For such a smart girl she cried an awful lot. But Jack just supposed that it was part of being a girl. Girls always cried. Men never did. "He told us to stay here. So we're going to stay here until…"_

_"JACK! MORGAN!" a loud voice boomed out over the chaotic voices around them. Jack grinned. His father, Jack Senior, was very tall and fairly lean. His shoulders were boxy and muscular, framed by wild black hair that streamed out from under his tricorn. Jack had inherited both his mane and his eyes, and his father's stared out from under a prominent brow both deep brown like the whore's skin had been. "I'm so happy to see you!" he lifted them into the air in a bear hug and set them down on the ground. "Now…where's your mother?"_

_"She's dead," Jack said. His words were cold and without remorse._

_His father stared at him in shock. "She's what?"_

_"She's dead. They hung her in the morning out on Dead Man's Ridge."_

_There were no words to describe the moment. His father's hand slid from his arms, dropping down to the ground where they hung just hairs away from the gritty surface of the cobblestone. Even the port seemed to fall silent around them, as father and son stared one another in the eye, one begging the other not to be true and the other looking as stone-faced as an undertaker. Jack had found his mother that morning, nothing more than a silhouette in front of the rising son, her body as limp as a rag doll, head hanging limply towards her chest. She had died with her eyes open, the muscles of her face only stiffening as she drifted in rigor mortis, and the brilliant sea blue eyes she possessed had met his just as his father's had met him now._

_He had vomited. And then he had collected Morgan from their home and headed towards the harbour, eager to find his father and report the bad news._

_"Well…I suppose you two are my responsibility now," Jack Sr. tried to smile and run a hand over Jack's face, but his son shied away from the touch. His father nodded, unsure of how to act. He rose again. "I've plans to make for the two of you. Just…um…Barnacles!" _

_"Aye sir," the large man said, appearing out of nowhere to loom over Jack Sr.'s shoulder. _

_"Take these children to my room at the Inn. Wait there till I return."_

_"What of the crew, sir?"_

_"No change of our plans, Barnacles. We'll be aboard in due time."_

_He bestowed a kiss on both his children's cheeks before walking away. It would be an hour before he returned and revealed that Jack was to be his new cabin boy, and that Morgan was to be left behind._

_"I'll come back for you," he assured her before being dragged away by his impatient father. Her hand slid from his, and Jack was certain that in those last moments they were together Morgan was starting her never ending count to one hundred again._

_"One…two…three…"_

* * *

I AM SO SORRY ABOUT THE DELAY! I just got back into school and my semester was already turning hellish. My roommate moved out that weekend and I failed an exam, making my already abysmal mark even more so. Still, I could not abandon this story, not when I had not yet started the actual treasure hunt. And I can assure you that the next few chapters will be much more action that this one was.

I swore that this would not be a Mary-Sue, but that seems hard to believe with my constant reiteration that Morgan is very smart. However, I did work to make Jack the center of attention in the flashbacks. And he is not without his own intelligences. Jack is much better at reading people than Morgan, and he is more adept at social situations than she.

Also, I noticed in the film that while Jack Sparrow is a scallywag with women, he does not outright abuse his privileges as a man. I wanted to give a reason for this as well, and borrowed Stephen King's idea of 'God' and 'Dog' from his fantasy masterpiece _The Eye of the Dragon_.

I promise the next chapter will not be so long in coming. Thank you for reading!

**Reviews**

**_Alexwacrap_**: I agree, heartburn does hurt. Sorry about the cliffie. I've kind of suspended it for a while, lol. But the next chapter will come quickly. Hope things are good with you!

**_JackFan2_: **Wow. Thank you very much for your kind review. Personally, I like Will hurt/comfort just because he's such an insecure character. He's the type of person who apologizes for his existence and being in pain just exacerbates those feelings. Jack Sparrow would also be endearing to read about when he's sick or hurt. I totally agree with you! He would totally hide the way he's feeling. If you're writing or written something like that, I would love to read it! There's one on this site that's really amazing about Jack getting a fever and revealing his relationship with Bootstrap to Will. I'll get the title for you.

_**THANK YOU SO MUCH!**_


	11. Bootstrap's Successor

Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation.

* * *

Chapter Eleven: Bootstrap's Successor

Jack Sparrow awoke just in time to see the main deck of the Wayfarer's Redemption rushing up to meet him. He landed with a thud, body limp from being struck so hard before. His head felt as if his head was being slashed repeatedly by multiple swords, and the pain seemed to centralize around the bridge of his nose which was probably broken. He could taste blood on his upper lip, and when he explored the area with his tongue he found the hairs of his mustache caked with coagulated gore. He spat out a mouthful of copper tasting liquid to the deck and rose to his knees.

"Now…" he announced, body swaying unsteadily, "Which one of you slags hit me?"

The crew stared at him, each one bearing a malicious expression. He was surrounded by the Wayfarer's new crew and recognized none of the faces amongst them, say for a few he had seen once or twice in a tavern not long ago – when he had money. They grumbled amongst themselves, some praying that they would kill him or keel-hull him, anything to enact some kind of cruel revenge. But their voices fell silent as one waltzed out from behind Jack.

The boots clanked against the wooden surface of the deck. Jack looked over his shoulder and found a well dressed gentleman approaching him. He was graceful and poised, hands folded placidly behind his back as he came towards his prisoner. Jack's eyes narrowed. It was the man who had punched him.

"Captain Jack Sparrow," the gentleman said. "I thought you were dead.:"

It was a statement, not a question. Jack shrugged "Sorry to disappoint."

The gentleman smirked coldly, eyeing Jack as a hunter would his prey. Before Jack could react, the man reached out and grabbed him by the nose. At first Jack was under the impression it was some pathetic form of torture, but due to the break in the appendage, merely touching it was agony. And it only got worse when the man flicked his wrist, jerking Jack's nose so strongly it cracked and then fell painfully back into place.

"You're lucky it was a clean break, otherwise I'd have to operate. And I've no anesthetic on board."

"You look familiar," Jack said, eyes narrowing decisively. True to his word, the noble man did look familiar. The shape of his skull, the colour of his hair…everything about him piqued Jack Sparrow's interest, thankfully taking his mind off the pain. "Have I escaped from you before?"  
Cannon fire rocked the cove, sending shivers through the ship. The noble man smiled softly, lowering his face behind the wide brim of his hat.

"Mr. Conrad, Mr. Straights," he turned away from his prisoner and looked towards his crew. The men were suddenly at attention, waiting for commands, and two of them in particular approached the now obvious captain of the Wayfarer's Redemption. "Take Mr. Turner to my quarters. I'll see to him once I return Mr. Sparrow to his crew."

Jack's heart skipped a beat. "Will?" he turned quickly and found a pale body lain on the deck of the ship by two rather large brutes. The strong jaw and soft brow of Bootstrap was unmistakable: it was William Turner, wrapped loosely in a ragged looking coat. Smeared across his once pristine white shirt was inky black blobs. Jack knew that it was blood, for in the moonlight, blood was always black.

_Blast_.

He'd gotten the whelp in trouble again.

An explosion from the shoreline alerted the captain to their dilemma once again, and as his men rushed off to attend to William, he snapped to attention. "LOWER SAILS! RAISE ANCHOR! MAN THE LONG NINES! I want the Trailblazer at the bottom of the Ocean before she can blast a hole in my ship."

A chorus of Aye's followed.

"Mr. Ridley, take the helm for the time being, and be sure to hail the Pearl after the slaughter. I don't want this scum taking up deck space any longer than he has to."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Ridley said, marching up to the upper deck. Jack knew him to be the man keeping watch when he had arrived.

With the whole ship focused on their appropriate tasks, the Captain turned his attention back to his captive. He raised a hand to his mouth and brushed his fingers along his facial hair experimentally. Pinching them between his thumbs and forefingers, the Captain peeled them from his flesh and pulled his hair from its ribbon.

Jack stared in horror. The he was a she, and she was his sister Morgan.

Granted she was almost beyond recognition after the years of their parting. Her baby fat had all but disappeared, leaving behind tight, sunken features not unlike his own. Her dark, chestnut curls were still full and lustrous, well kept to blend in with her disguise as a noble. She was still pale, another detail she had to maintain in order to fool people into believing she was wealthy. If not for her green eyes he might not be able to pick her out from the crowd, whether she was dressed as a woman or not.

But before they could be happily reunited, Morgan slapped him hard across the face.

_"I take it you didn't deserve that one either?"_ Will's voice echoed in his head.

_No, that one I did deserve,_ he thought to himself, _I think_.

"What the hell are you doing in Port Royal, Jack?'

"I came for the party, as it were," he cast a slight glance at the port which was currently receiving the worst of the Trailblazer's wrath. Screaming bodies were thrown into the air, set aflame by the cannon balls' contents, and dropped like rocks into the water. "The Swann's certainly know how to throw one."

"Word around the Caribbean is that you're flat broke," she raised an eyebrow as if interested, "Terrible state to be in with Captain Bateman at your throat."

"Not for very long," he said, rising to his feet. "I was hoping for some assistance to remedy my less than spectacular financial status, savvy?"

"You left me to rot in Tortuga," she growled between clenched teeth.

"Don't flatter yourself, love," he swayed about on his feet drunkenly. "Father left you to rot in Tortuga."

She was seething, eyes burning with hatred. She knew as well as he did that this was not the time to discuss sibling rivalry. But her anger could not allow her to simply forgive and forget, and she pushed past him towards the upper deck.

"I'll have you returned to the Pearl," she said. "But if we ever meet again, Jack, I'll kill you where you stand."

"It's about the treasure," he relented, his eyes following her.

Morgan stopped short. She turned towards him again.

"You don't mean…"

"I do."

They stared at each other for a long while, beseeching one another with their gazes. Morgan was not in the mood to be toyed with, and Jack certainly wasn't either. He didn't have the time, not with Bateman's mercenaries sailing after him at this very moment.

She opened her mouth to reply, but never got a chance to. The door to the cabins was thrown open by one of her lackies – what was his name? Jack couldn't remember, Crates or something.

"Captain," he said breathlessly. "There's a problem."

"Turner's still alive isn't he?" she was desperate, pleading with her crewman.

'Crates' nodded. "Aye Captain. He's alive. And armed with my bloody pistol too. Says he's willing to kill every man on board if he doesn't get returned to Port Royal post-haste."

* * *


	12. Oceans, Pistols, Bullets, and Rum

Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story are the property of Disney. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

Chapter Twelve: Oceans, Pistols, Bullets, and Rum

For a long while, William had been floating, suspended in the dark waters of his mind. He stared towards the surface of the ocean and found the night sky shimmering down upon him, rippling softly with the waves. Blue moonlight cascaded upon him, and he felt a strange peace descend upon him as long as he was allowed to stay there.

But then there was pain. Excruciating pain, worse than any he had ever experienced before. Chill and heat spread through his veins like venom, shattering any hopes of peace. He shook, convulsed, and trembled in order to escape, but the water had become as ice and held him under, making him of a prisoner of the ailment.

"He's not looking so good…" the voice echoed beneath the waves. "You should go get the Captain. He's shaking."

"Five minutes won't make any difference. There's no way even she can fix a wound as bad as his."

There was a pause. Footsteps danced across wooden floorboards, disappearing momentarily before returning.

"Are you coming?"

"Sorry mate. Just thinking about who he reminds me of."

Silence. Blessed silence. William hoped they could hear him screaming from the inside out.

"Why is she so interested in him anyways? I thought she fancied women?"

"That's a cover, you dolt," Footsteps was growing impatient with his idiot friend. "She's had men before, just never brought one back with her."

"He really does look familiar."

"Yeah, he does," another pause, lasting for what felt like centuries. Will was twisting and turning within his oceanic prison, begging for release. He could not breathe. He could not think. All he could do was feel, and not a single part of him didn't hurt at the present moment.

"You better go get the Captain. He's going to bleed himself dry."

"Right," Footsteps said, going to leave the room once more.

And then Will finally broke through to the surface, gasping as he sat up. Somewhere between passing out and waking up he had been laid on a makeshift bed inside a cabin he had never seen before. Several trunks were strapped to the floors around him, labeled with ripped parchment and messy so writing Will doubted he could read them even if he had learned. A solitary desk was pressed against the far wall with bottles of ink, ostrich quills, and parchment strewn across the top, some written on, some still blank.

He looked to the men with him, having become more unsure of his whereabouts now that he had inspected the room. They were dressed messily, like pirates, but whoever kept this room had to have access to some money.

Both men stared at him in shock, more surprised than afraid. The one seated next to him was trying to speak, but words eluded him.

William made it easy for him. He grabbed the pistol hanging from the man's belt and cocked it, aiming towards the man's head. Despite being lightheaded and in an excruciating amount of pain from the bullet wound, his grip on the weapon was steady, reading to fire. Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, he managed to stammer, "Where am I?"

Both men were silent. 'Footsteps' had retreated from the doorway, his own pistol in hand as a second line of defense. The act, though noble, was futile. Will's shot would be nearly point blank and kill much faster than his reflexes allotted him to fire.

"Where. Am. I?" he asked again. His vision was graying out at the edges, a bad sign even when one was not engaged in a gun fight. Still, his resolve was solid. He had been having the week from hell. Killing someone – especially someone who had potentially threatened his bride – would be a sadistic but effective sort of therapy at that moment.

"You're a pris...(no, 'prisoner' wasn't the right word) guest aboard the Wayfarer's Redemption."

"What have you done with Miss Swann?"

"Who?"

"MY WIFE! WHERE IS SHE?"

"We don't know," the man on the bed replied fearfully. "The captain…"

"What captain?" Will demanded, hoping that for Jack Sparrow's sake it wasn't him.

"Well, Captain Morgan Andrew," the man on the bed stammered.

William's blood grew hot, overpowering the pain suddenly. His adrenaline was surging, cheeks crimson with anger. Morgan Andrew or Andrew Morgan? The two names were interchangeable, and the appearance of both in one night could not be a simple coincidence. _"I'm not a simpleton,"_ he had once told Jack Sparrow, and Will certainly wasn't. He knew when he was being lied to.

His pause had given 'Footsteps' enough time to approach the bed and try and pull the pistol from his hands. During their scuffle, the man seated opposite Will made a dive for the floor, only just dodging the bullet erupting from Will's pistol during the melee. Taking advantage of the distraction, the man rose and made a dash for the stairs.

* * *

Jack Sparrow was a flurry of emotions, none of them good. While his usual swagger had not abandoned him, his heart was pounding in his ears as he, Morgan, and the other man – WHAT THE HELL WAS HIS NAME? Jack decided that Crates was an appropriate title – bustled down the hall for the Captain's cabin.

When they opened the door they found a rather surprising sight. William Turner, looking like he had just gone through hell and back several times, was standing over the defeated pirate with two pistols in his hand barking out questions.

Will looked to the doorway, eyes narrowing in anger when he found Jack Sparrow there. "You," he said gruffly. "You're a part of all this."  
"Actually Will, I'm just as confused as you are right about now," he replied, on edge from what he saw. Rivers of blood dripped down from Will's shirt to the floor, collecting in puddles at his feet, though the boy barely noticed. His eyes were on Jack as the pirate approached.

"How's about you give Jack the pistols now?" he said gently, holding out his hand expectantly.

Will's eyes narrowed at the Captain, the only man he could confidently call his true friend. The man at his feet shivered at the sight of the pistol barrels aimed directly at his head. No amount of blood loss had destroyed William's unlimited supply of resolve, and he'd have to die before they were likely to leave his hands.

"Come on," Jack urged him softly, his vocal tone akin to one used while soothing a frightened animal. William shook violently, as if the pain had at last caught up with him. "Come on, Will. Give Jack the pistols."

The walls between them keeled under pressure and Will finally lowered the weapons, relinquishing them to the Captain. Jack clutched them in both hands, taking them a fair distance from the distressed looking young man. Even though he hid it well, Jack's heart pounded loudly in his head from fear.

"There's a good lad," he said, passing the pistols off to Morgan, who then handed them back to 'Crates'. She gestured for her man on the ground to get up, dismissing both with a small wave.

"Get him on the bed," she whispered to Jack, trying not to startle Will in the process. She then headed over to the trunks on the other side of the room.

"Who is she?" William asked groggily as Jack ushered him over to what he thought to be the bed. It consisted of nothing more than several ratty blanket piled on top of one another, a complete contradiction to what Morgan was using as an alter-ego.

He glanced in her direction. She had removed the fine jacket and tricorn she had been wearing and rolled up the sleeves of her shirt. Rising from the trunk, she approached the bed with a small bundle of medical supplies clenched in her fist: a pair of rusty scissors, tweezers, a curved needle, and a spool of thick, black thread. In the other hand was a half empty bottle of rum.

Pulling the cork from the bottle, she took the first swig, lowering on one knee by the two pirates. "I wasn't lying," she said to Will, offering him the bottle, "When I said I'd been to medical school. Can't say the rest of my accolades were all true, but at least I wasn't lying about the important things." He stared at her, eyes narrowed from both the pain and his confusion. It took a moment to register that the female face in front of him had once been a man.

"Andrew," Will said, finally realizing who it was.

She shook the bottle. "You should drink some of that."

"Why?"

"I haven't got any anesthetic with me. The last bottles of chloroform I smuggled out of London were shattered on the voyage here, a hard loss. They fetch quite the price with poachers in these parts. This'll numb the pain…somewhat…"

He didn't particularly like to hear her uncertainty, least of all when she was just moments from operating on him. He looked from her to the bottle one more time, still trying to catch up with the situation.

Jack too, was eyeing the bottle with an increasing level of interest. After another moment passed without another word from either of them, he reached in to take his share of the rum. Morgan, never missing a beat, batted his hand away and shot him a dirty glare. She then proceeded to take another drink herself and set about organizing her tools.

"Turn around then," she said. Will looked to Jack, who looked back to Will and shrugged. He didn't know anything more about what was happening than Will did, obviously. Morgan lifted the scissors. "That's bullet got to come out sometime otherwise an infection is going to set in. So are you going to turn around, or am I going to have to do it for you?"

The two men stared at the scissors like cows stare at an oncoming train. Will certainly didn't want any thing that sharp and that big coming near the wound in his back. Jack seemed more shocked at the idea of her being malicious and blood thirsty than anything else. They glanced at each other again.

"I think I'll take the rum," Will said.

"Me too," Jack agreed.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Before people start ranting about women in medical school during the 18th century, I have just three words: Miranda James Barry, or James Miranda Barry. She graduated from medical school under the guise as a male and went on to become one of the most celebrated physicians in Britain's history, discovered only AFTER her death. A pirate is unlikely, but I have given Morgan a plausible past, I swear.

Reviews:

**_Skystrike26_**: Thank you so much! I was worried about her being too much for the plot and that readers would respond badly to her presence. Your comment boosted my confidence about the insertion! THANK YOU!

As for their parents, well, you're just going to have to keep reading, won't you?

**_Aerobabe_**: I agree, the second movie is long in coming. I hope this makes the time go by a little faster. It seems to be working for me!

**_Alexwacrap_**: Yes, exams most definitely are a pain in the backside. I'm sure yours will go over well though. Best of luck! Thanks for reviewing again and I'm sorry about the delay in chapters! I should be able to keep up now that the school year's coming to an end!

_**Thank you so much to everyone who even read this, especially those who took the time to review. It means a lot to know that people are keeping up with my work!**_


	13. Fun for the Whole Family

Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: Fun for the Whole Family

Will had never recalled consuming so much alcohol in his entire life. But the prospect of having a doctor of questionable skill digging about in a bullet wound was enough to drive him to the bottle. By the time Morgan slashed open his shirt, he'd already consumed half the vile tasting liquor, and would have drank more had Jack not been so desperate for some.

The alcohol seemed to fill his head with cotton. His thoughts and movements slowed while his flesh crawled and tingled, numbed by his drunkenness. He felt warm and comfortable, a stark contrast to the shivering mass he'd been just minutes before.

Morgan shook herself out prior to working. She'd forced Will onto his stomach, lying face down on the blankets so the wound was visible. The dim lamp light of the room was hardly what she was used to working with, but it would have to do. All her crewmen were currently focused on destroying the Trailblazer, a task that was using far too much firepower for her tastes. Forcing all other thoughts from her mind, she wiped the coagulated gore from Will's back with a strip of the blanket she'd ripped from under her.

Without so much as a warning, she pulled the rum from Jack with a single tug and poured the remainder of it onto the wound.

Will leapt up in surprise, only to be restrained by Morgan's hand on his shoulder. His adrenaline surged temporarily, but then faded off into oblivion, allowing him to surrender back to the effects of the alcohol. They tugged at his senses, dulling the pain of his shoulder again. Exhaling slowly, he fell back into intoxicated silence.

Jack stared at her in shock. She'd just wasted perfectly good rum.

Morgan ignored him, taking up her tweezers from where she'd left them. Running them through the flame of the lamp, a crude form of sterilization, she waited for them to cool before raising them to Will's back.

"This is going to sting," she said, and he believed her. He dug his fingers into the blankets beneath him in preparation for the pain.

She dug them into his flesh, millimeter by agonizing millimeter, until they came to a halt atop a firm, metallic object. She shifted about on the bed, attempting to get a better view, but couldn't see anywhere past the flesh without better light. "Lift that lamp up," she ordered Jack. It took him a minute to comply, but he finally did as she bade him, slowly raising the light higher and higher so she could see.

The image was worse than anything his imagination could have come up with. He'd seen men blown in half on the high seas when they took cannon balls to the waists. He'd seen others stabbed and shot to a point beyond recognition, some in such tiny pieces it was impossible to discern whether they had once been human or not. But nothing could have prepared him for his little half sister performing impromptu surgery on William Turner.

Even more disturbing were the images on both the doctor and the patient's faces. Morgan was clinical, professional, her face forged from stone. Nothing changed on it for a moment. Will, however, was in pure agony. The rum was doing very little for the pain, and it only took a few minutes before he had stopped humming and started grunting from the procedure.

"I've almost got it," Morgan said in a bad attempt to comfort him, just as she pushed the tweezers down another centimeter. Will groaned, pitching himself to the side unconsciously in a weak attempt to escape. She tightened her grip on the tweezers and pulled, causing Will to cry out again.

The bullet pulled free from Will's skin. Morgan tossed it to the floor and pressed the rag over the bloodied hole in her patient's skin, watching the blood slowly seep into the already soiled fabric. Jack lowered the lamp, eyes always on William's. Somehow, in the midst of treating what might be the most painful injury the blacksmith had ever suffered, he was still conscious, floundering somewhere between full awareness and complete senselessness. His grip on the floor loosened, and it seemed like the rum had finally come to the aid of his pain stricken mind. His breathing evened and body went loose, completely spent from the previous exertion.

She was even faster with the sutures, and less painful. Her well trained fingers loaded the needle and had it in William's flesh before she could even warn him. His muscles seized and twitched as she pierced the skin and pulled it together, reforming the skin.

She was finished just minutes after she had begun. With a quick snip of the scissors, she had tied off the stitches and was leaving Will to rest.

The silence that fell over the two was deafening. Jack couldn't remember how long it had been since they were last together, and Morgan didn't seem to care much. All he knew was that he hadn't taken his eyes off her since she began, and for what felt like an eternity, he hadn't said a word.

They couldn't meet each other's stares after that, and resorted to coughs and grunts as they attempted to restart a conversation. Morgan cleaned up her supplies, placing them neatly into one of her many trunks. Jack pulled at the fraying edges of the blankets.

Will passed out.

"So Bootstrap left you the boat, did he?" Jack asked; a feeble attempt at conversation, but an attempt nonetheless.

"In a way, yes," Morgan put her coat back on and closed the trunk, rising to leave. "You can stay with him if you like. I'll fetch you when we've hailed the Pearl."

She left the room.

Jack growled and rolled his eyes, mocking Morgan under his breath. "You can stay with him if you like," he said in a high pitched squeal, imitating her haughty air. Casting one last glance at the whelp to make sure he was breathing, Jack sauntered after her.

* * *

Explosions echoed from all sides of the Wayfarer, and as Jack emerged from the cabins, he found himself in the middle of a war zone. Cannon and pistol fire lit up the darkened waters of Port Royal as three ships engaged each other in crude combat. Ridley had brought the Wayfarer round behind the Trailblazer, giving Morgan's long nines free reign over the ship's stern. The Pearl was cleverly positioned further off towards the Wayfarer's bow, out of reach of either ships' cannons as she hurled an onslaught of her own aritllayr.

Morgan had finally taken up her post as Captain, pulling her pistol from its place on her belt and taking out what few Trailblazer crewmen she could. They had amassed on the high deck when they noticed the Wayfarer's ambush and resorted to pistol fire as a last resort. Crouched low behind the ledge on the Wayfarer's portside, she barely noticed Jack running towards her until he had slid next to her on all fours.

"I'm going after the Sparrow treasure!" he shouted over the barrage of cannon fire. The Trailblazer's marksmen were poor shots anyways, and every time they fired, a splash could be heard in the distance.

She fired once more, causing a clumsy footed crewman to fall over the ledge into the water below.

"WHAT!" she asked, taking time to converse as she reloaded.

"I'M GOING AFTER THE SPARROW TREASURE!"

The captain was at the helm. She fired towards him and missed.

"Blast!" she cursed, dropping back down into her hiding spot again. She started to reload.

"THE SPARROW TREASURE DOESN'T EXIST!" she shouted back.

"THAT'S A MATTER OF OPINION!" he said. "I've half a map that states otherwise."

"Jack, that map was father's way of buggering off for months at a time," she replied, rising to fire again. A Trailblazer marksman nearly got her in the head, but the bullet whizzed past and only singed a lock of her hair. Lips curled in a snarl, she fired and shot him in the heart. She sat down again to load her pistol. "There never was a treasure, and there never will be a treasure. It was all just a bedtime story."

Before Jack could answer, Morgan had turned her attention on the upper deck. "RIDLEY!" she shouted. He emerged from his spot nearest the helm, rifle resting on the floor beneath him. "Head down below and bring up a few more marksmen for the upper decks. We've wasted enough cannon balls on these morons as it is."

"Aye," he said with a nod. "Consider it done Captain."

He retreated to the lower levels. Morgan turned her attention back to Jack.

"Bateman's assassins have as much brains as they have marksmanship," she commented dryly, and fired again, this time hitting a man square between the eyes.

"If I can get to this treasure, it will be enough to pay off ten Bateman's."

Morgan glared at him incredulously.

"Father never gave me a map piece," she spat. "You know that."

"Yes, of course. But father gave Bootstrap a piece. Bootstrap gave you the ship, so he must have also passed on any other heirlooms he might have had on him."

Jack knew his thinking was slightly flawed. Bootstrap could have taken the map piece to Davy Jones' locker with him. But Jack was more confident with the idea that Morgan had it than with Bootstrap dying with it. Bootstrap lived by the mantra, "Waste not, want not." If he had given Morgan the ship, he had no doubt passed along any other worldly possessions with it.

"Bootstrap gave me the ship by default, Jack, not by choice," she inspected the upper deck of the Trailblazer with mild interest, especially since the cannons were starting to fall silent. The Trailblazer was several feet lower on the water, and she could hear screams from inside for more bailers. "Chain of command dictated that I become acting captain. And under the circumstances of his death, I didn't think to search for any such map."

Jack was crushed. He cast a glance toward his sister, who was glancing uneasily at the Trailblazer again. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. She hadn't looked at him since they had started talking. And while they were engaged in combat, something about her attitude caught him off guard. He didn't think he was being crazy either. She was being unnecessarily shady with him.

The cannon fire fell silent at last as the Trailblazer capsized, falling with a large splash on her Starboard side. Both remaining ships rode high on the waves for a moment before stabilizing. Jack's ears were ringing from the battle. Morgan sighed in relief, taking a moment to relax before she looked back to him.

"I'm sorry, Jack. I can't help you."

He stared into her eyes for the briefest of moments, and found that even then she could not meet his stare. She turned away from him, staring off into space instead.

Rising, he regained his usual swagger. "I should have thought as much," he rolled his eyes. "Guess I've got no use for this then."

He pulled the map piece from his shirt. He kept his eyes on Morgan's reaction as he extended his arm over the edge of the ship and released the piece to the wind.

At first she was emotionless, watching him with as much interest as she had the Trailblazer in its final moments. But the second the wind catch the scrap of parchment she leapt to her feet.

"NO!" she shouted, and ran for it, just as the slip of paper fluttered to the ocean below.

* * *


	14. A Pirate By Any Other Name

Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story pertaining to _Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl_ are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation.

* * *

Chapter Fourteen: A Pirate by any Other Name

Jack just watched his sister's reaction, his eyes gleaming with happiness. It was exactly what he'd expected she'd do at the prospect of losing her father's map, a map she was never given a piece of in the first place. Morgan pushed past him in a feeble attempt to get closer to the floundering scrap of parchment. Alas, it had already drifted far off in the night and more than likely sunk to Davy Jones' locker without any hopes of finding it again.

"What did you do that for!" she shouted, pushing Jack backwards. He held his ground, a strange sort of smirk moving over his face as she lashed out at him.

"If it's worthless, it's worthless," Jack said, "And there's no reason to be keeping something that's worthless because it's more trouble than it's worth. But why make such a fuss over something worthless?"

Morgan went still. She'd been caught in the act.

Jack smiled toothily and held up his index finger, matter-of factly. "Unless of course it's not worthless, in which case, there's plenty of reason to have a tantrum when it's not around anymore."

He cocked a brow, smirk still plastered on his face.

The rest of the crew finally emerged from the lower decks, and Morgan took the chance to look away from Jack and gather her thoughts.

"This makes it extremely advantageous to still have that worthwhile object in your possession."

Morgan turned back to him as Jack pulled another slip of paper from one of the many pockets and compartments inside of his clothes. He even unfolded it so she could get the briefest of glances at it, before he pulled it from her reach.

"You…" she whispered accusingly.

"An eye for an eye, love," he replied sassily. "You lied to me, I lied to you. The only difference is that I'm better at it."

"You can be such a…such a…"

"Pirate?"

Morgan started to pout. He'd insulted her pride three times in the past conversation, making her already dismal impression of him even worse. She turned away from him, and he thought at first she was retreating to her cabin, but suddenly she whipped around and marched back.

"Give me the map, Jack…"

"I thought it was useless," he blew on his fingers, pretending to be more interested in the grit under his fingernails than the glowering face of his younger sister.

"Stop playing games with me," she warned, an empty threat, but a threat nonetheless. "As Captain of this vessel…"

"As Captain of this vessel you're completely powerless. My ship is within firing distance of yours, and I have twice the cannons you have."

She cocked her pistol and raised it to his head. "How about now?"

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

"It'd be suicide."

"It'd be the smartest thing I've done since I dragged your ass from Port Royal."

"You're not a murderer, Morgan. You're a pirate, but not a murderer."

"No," she shook her head. "I play the part but I never once became one of them."

"Then why are you so eager to kill a man for a treasure map?"

He'd hit another nerve, but the logic was infallible. Morgan's would-be homicidal rampage subsided a moment later, and she lowered the weapon to her side.

Jack smiled coyly. "So then…it really is just a pirate by any other name, isn't it?"

He was quoting their mother, and she knew it, as indicated by the look of pure hatred she shot at him. Whenever their father left on another voyage around the Caribbean, their mother would always insist that he was nothing more than a pirate.

_"You married a scallywag, darling," he'd say with a shrug._

_"A scallywag's nothing but a pirate by any other name," she'd reply_.

Not waiting for her killer urges to recur, Jack continued. "So, the way I see it is this: either you have the map and you're not telling me about it or you don't have the map and you're trying to take mine. Either way, you've no other choice but to reveal your intentions now, because pirate or not, Morgan, you're one of the worst liars I've ever seen. And you're not going to make it very far with fratricide when my ship is less than half a league off your starboard side."

Morgan's hand shook. She wanted to raise the pistol and blow his brains out and he knew it. The bullet within was screaming to become a permanent fixture in Jack's scattered brains. But the Black Pearl was an ominous force amidst the nighttime waters, and the silence made her all the more imposing. Her long nines were still evident along her portside, and her crew shuffled nervously on deck, pistols and rifles at the ready. She wouldn't even get to fire a single shot before one of them planted a bullet into her.

But it wasn't the idea of dying that held back Morgan's hand. She had lost a lot of dignity already with her lying, and didn't feel like losing anymore.

"I've become accustomed to a certain lifestyle, Jack," she confessed, sighing deeply, "One that is not commonly accommodated aboard a pirate ship, certainly not with the sort of security measures being taken by the royal navy. And while I remain debt free, there is a level of financial stability required to maintain my lifestyle, one that I cannot manage such as circumstance allows me."

Jack floundered in her sea of polysyllabic jargon, attempting to make sense of it all. All his years of living on the sea, surrounded by scallywags and cut throats had made his grasp of good English loosen to a point that all semblance of dignified speech had left his years ago. Morgan's, however, had been well taught. Whatever she may have been lying about up until their showdown on deck, she certainly wasn't lying about her education. Someone forced such horrendously long terms down her throat, and while it may not have been professors of medicine, it definitely wasn't pirates who showcased such a wide vocabulary.

Nonetheless, he managed to summarize her lengthily statement into two small words: I'm broke.

Jack smiled. The situation was becoming even more advantageous than he could have ever hoped for.

"So…have you got the map? Or haven't you?"

Morgan's face remained expressionless, impossible to read this time. She holstered her weapon and pulled open her jacket, drawing closer to him as she did so. Undoing several buttons of her shirt, she slid her hands underneath the thin cotton garment and dug into her bodice beneath it. The custom-made corset evened out her entire chest, unlike the more popular models which only propped up whatever flesh it found there.

Shifting uncomfortably beneath the tight costume, she finally pulled a small silver box from beneath it, one that was half a shilling's wide and two inches in length. Popping it open, she revealed at last what Jack was looking for: the second piece of his father's treasure map.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **

Short chapter this time, just enough to get everything I needed to. The treasure hunt's about to begin and I cannot wait to keep going.

Morgan's motives are going to be explained in later chapters. Her deception (or lack thereof) is also divulged, but not yet. Sorry if this chapter was confusing. I promise, explanation is on its way.

**Reviews:**

**_CloudSky_**: Thanks very much for your honesty! The plot was kind of a product from watching the trailer to the sequel and reading whatever I could about it. I had to place Jack in a situation where he was desperate enough to use a map he only had part of, and I figured a bounty would work nicely. While I do agree with what you'er saying, I think Jack would try and save himself in anyway possible. But seeing as how he's not a murderer, the best way to get Bateman off his tail would be pay him back with interest, something his father's treasure could offer.

I think it's possible that Jack has any number of family members we've never heard about. Most of the movie dealt with his mutiny and need for revenge, not so much the personal history of his character. Still, he does come off as an only child sometimes, or at least one raised without other children.

And William will most definitely be waking up soon. Their interaction is what makes the fandom so endearing.

Thank you so much!

**_I Can't Believe I'm Not Anime_**: Lol. Jack's inability to count is a plot point that will come back to haunt him, that I can assure you.

**_Alexwacrap_**: You just started your school year? Whoa, makes sense though. Your winter is coming up soon though, isn't it? I've never been to Australia, but my dad goes there on business. He can't stop talking about it. So while I'm sitting up here in the Northern reaches of Canada he's discussing how wonderful the weather is there. Feel free to complain about school all you want. I empathize entirely.

Yes, Jack Sparrow is all about getting a rise out of people? Sighs Like when he threatens to leave Will hanging off the Interceptor? He's wonderful, such an awesome character.

**_Thanks so much for the great feedback! I always love to hear from people, so good or bad, just leave a little note! _**


	15. An Accord

Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story pertaining to _The Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl_ are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation, and as much as I do enjoy borrowing them for fanfiction, they are not mine. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.

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Chapter Fifteen: An Accord

Jack held his hands up in the air, map piece still clenched inside his fist. He beamed at Morgan, and then made a grab for it.

Snapping the case shut, she shoved it back inside her bodice and closed her jacket.

"You really think that location has stopped me before?" he said sassily.

"It was never incest before."

"And what in God's name does incest mean?" he snarled.

She didn't really feel like giving him a lesson in vocabulary and loathed the idea of repeating what she had just said in more primitive words, so she changed the subject. "Before I shake on something, I want to know exactly how much you owe Bateman. And don't you dare say, 'Not much,' because no one, especially not the most feared pirate in the Caribbean sends every bounty hunter after one weasly captain for a small debt."

Jack considered the figures. He had borrowed the money from Bateman just after the Pearl had been stolen, an attempt to buy his own boat. So that was what? 400 shillings? 500 shillings? He figured it was safe to safe to say that Bateman had given him an incredible amount of money, much more than was needed to procure a tiny vessel. Jack distinctly remembered stating that rum was also a necessity for an ocean voyage, a statement Bateman had laughed at whole-heartedly. On top of that there was the growing amount of interest, almost eleven year's worth, that Bateman would more than likely demand.

He did the math twice, just to be certain, although he knew his calculations were flawed. And then he finally said, "5000 shillings…and that's with interest."

Morgan stared at him suspiciously. "Are you quite sure?"

"Yes," Jack said, and then changed his mind. "No…yes? Maybe. No."

She rolled her eyes. "How much did you originally borrow from Bateman?"

"400 hundred…no! 550! Exactly!"

"Are you positive?"

"Only fools are positive, love. I'm fairly certain my original debt was only for 550 shillings."

"And how many years ago was that?"

"Almost 11."

"And how is the interest compounded: monthly, quarterly, or yearly?"

Jack cocked a brow. "In English?"

Another roll of the eyes. Morgan kept forgetting she wasn't in London anymore.

"How much interest does Bateman get every year?"

"I have no idea," Jack said. "It's safe to say the amount doubles every year I don't pay."

Her eyes widened. "Every year?"

"Roughly."

She performed the figures in her head, with uncertainty, knowing that Jack was definitely miscalculating. Still, she had only his word, and as worthless as it sometimes was, she had to assume it was correct.

The amount was astronomical in pirate terms: over 6000 shillings, and that was with a propagation of error.

"That's ridiculous," she replied. "Do you even have an idea of how much you owe him?"

"None whatsoever," Jack answered candidly. She sighed deeply. "But father's treasure has over thirty years of plundering, so it's safe to say I can repay my debt and have plenty of treasure for rum and women afterwards."

"And what of my share?" she asked.

He obviously had thought of that. His smile faded and he shifted his eyes about confusedly. "Your share?" She wasn't entitled to one, was she?

"There are two map pieces and two captains. The treasure should be split 50/50."

Jack's life returned to him, and he nodded, grinning madly. "Of course! You're share! How on earth could I have forgotten?" the smile faded. "80/20."

"What on earth are you going to do with 80 of a thirty year old treasure?"

"Obviously a lot more than someone only getting 20."

"There is no way I'm risking life and limb and only getting 20. The price Bateman put on your head is probably more than 20 of that treasure! I'm better off just killing you."

"70/30," he said. Seemed like a fair enough deal to him.

"50/50, Jack," she warned, not enjoying this haggling one bit. "We sail, we split, end of story."

"60/40?" he offered, hoping she would see reason.

She didn't.

"50/50, or I hand your ass over to Bateman."

She'd trumped him with his only weakness at the moment. After making it obvious to him that there was no love lost between the Sparrow siblings at the present time, she had stopped all her lies and just decided to go in for the kill. And Jack knew she wouldn't hesitate to hand him over to Bateman, especially with the other piece of their father's map in her hands.

Against his better judgment, he agreed.

Morgan extended her hand. "50/50 then. We have an accord."

Jack sneered. He observed her hand with about as much zeal as one would a victim of a flesh eating disease, with the same amount of disgust written on his features. Wincing visibly, he reached and gripped her hand in his, shaking it viciously.

She took his abuse in stride, tightening her grip on his hand painfully. They doubted they would ever be able to use their hands again after that.

With one finally exertion of strength, Morgan yanked him towards her and whispered menacingly into his ear.

"I'm not lying this time: you try to screw me over and I'll have you chewing lead."

She released him and whipped around, waltzing back to her cabins. Jack mocked her behind her back in a high pitched voice. She either didn't hear him or ignored him, because the only way she responded was turning and smiling pleasantly.  
"Oh, and we take the Wayfarer."

She tossed the comment over her shoulder flippantly.

"Like hell we do!" he said.

"The whole Caribbean's looking for the Black Pearl, whereas the Wayfarer is flying under British sails. We'd stick out like a soar thumb on your ship."

"We sail, we split," he mimicked her. "I want my crew on board."

"Captain," Ridley intervened. "I really must protest…"

Jack shot him a look of pure poison. "Who the hell do you think you are, whelp?"

The look of venom was returned, courtesy of Ridley, and they would have had an all out brawl on their hands had Morgan not intervened.

"Your protest is noted," she replied, then turned her sights back on Jack. "Your request is granted. There's an island several leagues off that completely deserted. Half of my crew and half of yours will remain ashore; the others will come aboard and sail under my command."

"We sail under my command or not at all."

"I didn't realize you were in a position to make decisions?"

Jack grinned sadistically. She was getting catty, impulsive, just the sort of mood he wanted her in. Morgan was more likely to make brash choices when she was frantic to best him.

"They sail under me or I give the order for the Pearl to blast you to Davy Jones'."

Now, he was winning again. Morgan could turn him over to Bateman, it was true, but his ship was finally making its way around the Wayfarer's portside, an advantageous position; one that kept Morgan's pistol at her thigh, anyways.

"Captain…" Ridley tried to intervene again. Morgan held up her hand, irritated with their bickering, especially now that her first mate saw fit to get himself involved. She walked back over to Jack and sighed deeply.

"Very well, under your command. But I'm acting quartermaster."

"Ana Maria's boatswain," he added quickly, trying to cut a deal in a hurry to avoid agreeing with anymore of Morgan's demands.

"The Ridley is as well."

"I've never heard of a ship with two boatswain's before?"

"One for your crew, one for my crew then. Good?"

"Good," Jack shook her hand, less ferociously this time. "We finally have an accord."

* * *

**Author's Notes**:

Short chapter this one, but they'll be getting longer as the hunt starts. At last, they have reached a decision – hasty and fragile as the democracy is, it's the only one they have.

The ranks used to denote Morgan, Ridley, and Ana's positions are all borrowed from Internet research done on pirate ranking. The captain would hold veto power over the ship, while the quartermaster was essentially first mate, one who divvied order out to lower ranked seamen. The boatswain is a lower level than a quartermaster, but is in charge of keeping people in line while they're doing their jobs. They were also in charge of repairs.

I've tried to tie in Jack's debt as best I could with the original storyline.

And William is returning. He's just catching up on some sleep before the storm hits.

**Reviews**:

**_Nicole_**: Morgan's past has not yet been divulged. In later chapters, however, everything becomes a lot clearer.

**_WhiteRosesforme_**: Terribly sorry about Jack being serious all the time! I'm trying to work in a little more sarcasm though, now that things have started to look up for him. Your concern is greatly noted, since I really strive to accurately portray the characters. Thank you for bringing this to my attention! I will also try to post chapters more regularly, although cliffhangers are fun. They even make me squirm sometimes.

**_BlkPearl_**: Hope this was soon enough for you!

**_Alexwacrap_**: I love the enthusiasm from readers! I know for a fact my dad has been to St. Petersburg and Moscow, but I can't clearly recall if he's ever been to Perth or not. Is that where you're originally from?

And if you love snow so much, feel free to take as much as you want from here. I haven't seen the grass since the end of last October!

_**Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! I cannot even express how amazing it is to know that people are reading and enjoying what I'm posting! You're feedback makes me write that much faster. THANK YOU!**_


	16. Sway

Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story pertaining to _The Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl_ are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.

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Chapter Sixteen: Sway

Unfamiliar sounds roused Will from his slumber. Wood groaned, creaked, and twisted painfully against the powerful waves pounding outside the cabin. Footsteps shifted frantically from above, moving this way and that, as rain fell in buckets against the deck.

And then there was the sound of Jack Sparrow's mumbling as he dug about the cabin feverishly, searching for rum.

William pinched the bridge of his nose in a feeble attempt to block out the headache that had centralized there. He now understood why he had avoided liquor for so many years, aside from the obvious reason of being too poor to afford it.

"Where are you?" Jack asked no one in particular, storming across the room to the desk on the opposite wall. He began yanking out the drawers and spilling contents to the floor before dropping like a sack of potatoes to dig through the papers. He only managed to create a larger mess than the cabin was already. "Come on, lovelies. Come to Jack…"

"Jack," Will interrupted him. The pirate leapt three feet in the air, slamming his head against the edge of the desk in the process. He stared at William as if he were a bomb that had just exploded. "Where the hell are we?" He inspected himself, confused as to why he was half naked. "Where's my shirt?"

"WILL!" Jack announced at the top of his lungs. William really wished he hadn't. His head could scarcely stand the captain's thunderous pacing, let alone shouting, joyful or not. He groaned loudly and sank lower on the bed, clutching his face in his hands as his head throbbed. "WILL! Jolly good to see you still breathing, mate. Did you happen to see where all the rum's hidden on this blasted ship?"

"Rum?" Will asked, still confused. He could barely keep up with his own thoughts, let alone the ramblings of Jack Sparrow.

The pirate captain yanked another drawer from its place in the desk, dumping the contents over the floor again. He filtered through them hurriedly and then grabbed another. The search was in vain, however. Morgan's rum supply was either very well hidden or no longer existed.

"Jack, where are we?"

"60 leagues south of Tortuga, although I think the navigator just got washed overboard."

A scream was heard on deck. Jack stopped moving. "That was him."

Will tried to coordinate his woozy thoughts. "We're on a ship?"

"Yep," Jack stomped over to the chests on the other side of the room, throwing open the lids and digging through what sounded to be glass, metal and fabrics inside.

"How long have I been asleep?"

Jack wasn't listening. Either that or he was thinking. William couldn't be sure with his head buried so deep inside the chest. When he reemerged, he had a bottle of green liquid in his hands and was examining the label on the bottle.

_He wasn't listening_, Will decided with a small groan. The constant swaying of the ship was making him sick to his stomach. To make matters worse, the pain in his shoulder had also returned.

"Abs…absin…absinth-ee?" Jack was sounding out the syllables, but they didn't mean anything. Whatever was in the bottle, it wasn't rum. He tossed it back into the chest and kept digging.

The door to the cabin was thrown open, sending a shower of rain and seawater into the room. The figure in the doorway jumped inside the cabin and slammed the door shut behind them, before pulling down their coat lapels and turning their sights on Jack.

"GOD DAMN IT JACK! What the hell are you doing?"  
It was Morgan, and by the looks of it, she wasn't too happy. Her usually well-kept self had been overthrown by the waves, giving her the appearance of a drowned kitten. Her hair was a mess, tossed about into thick, curly knots, and her pale cheeks were flushed with colour, partly out of anger, seeing as how Jack had turned her cabin in a disaster area, and partly from the cold.

She tossed off her wet clothing, stripping down to practically her undergarments without any care for who was in the room and set about reorganizing her desk. She tossed the papers haphazardly into the drawer, not caring particularly about order, just that they were out of the growing puddles on the floor.

"Blast," Jack swore, slamming the lid shut on another chest. "Where's all the rum on this bloody ship?"

"I haven't got anymore! I used the last bottle last night!" she slammed her drawer shut again and got back to her feet, collecting her clothes off the floor. The grace of Sir Andrew was gone, leaving only the gawkiness of a young woman behind. Her angular form would not have attracted many men in court, least of all in a bodice meant to hide her natural form. But her face was charming enough, with high cheekbones and brightly coloured green eyes. William say she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, that ideology was reserved strictly for Elizabeth, but she was pleasant looking, and on the high seas, that would suffice.

She set her clothing neatly on top of one of the trunks and waltzed over to the one Jack was digging in, before grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and pulling him out.

"Get out of my things!" she ordered, slamming the lid of the trunk once more.

"Technically," Jack began as he rose from the floor, "This cabin became mine once you named me captain."

"The cabins were never part of our accord," she snapped. "You can sleep in the galley if you want to. I'm sure there are some vintage wines in there."

"Wine!" he said, astonished at the very suggestion of it.

"Yes, wine," she said. "Now get the hell out of my cabin before I rethink this whole accord of ours."

Jack was about to argue, but any alcohol was better than none at all. He marched out of the cabin grumbling noisily about the appalling taste of wine and slammed the door behind him.

Morgan sighed the last of her frustrations away and looked to William at last. The constant rocking did not seem to be agreeing with him, least of all in the midst of a hangover, and he was looking pretty green by the time she cared to notice. She reached quickly for a metal bucket on the opposite wall and just barely had it under his head before he was vomiting.

Shaking and shivering, Will Turner wretched until he was doing nothing but dry heaving, and by then he was in so much agony he could barely support himself. He could feel blood oozing over his spine and his headache was only getting worse without fluids. Even Morgan's cool hands on his shoulders and brow made him tremble more violently. Was there no peace to be had in this condition?

When he found his strength again, Morgan retreated to her usual state of silence as she cleaned house. She tossed the bucket into the hall presumably as Jack was passing by since William was pretty sure he heard the tortured cry of the captain slipping in his vomit. That and Morgan was looking slightly pleased with herself when she reentered the room.

"You're dehydrated," she said, clinically, of course, and picked up a lone rum bottle hidden under several books on the desk. Jack had obviously missed them. Pulling out the cork, she sniffed the contents and nodded approvingly. "There's some fresh water in here, plenty to start with. But don't drink it too quickly. You'll make yourself sick again, and I haven't the means to treat dehydration on top of hangovers."

"Where am I?" William asked, still wheezing. He was leaning limply against the wall, lacking the strength to hold himself up any longer. Morgan knelt next to him and offered him the bottle, which he tried to grasp, but was shaking too badly to do so. She understood, and placed the mouth of the bottle to his and poured it back, ever so gently, pouring a teaspoon of the contents into his mouth.

The cool water slid slowly through his stale mouth, easing the headache as it trailed down his throat.

"You're on board the Wayfarer's Redemption," she replied, letting his stomach rest before he received another mouthful. "I am…was the captain. Morgan Andrew, at your service Mr. Turner."

"Sir Andrew?" he asked, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him.

"An alias," she replied placidly. "Only one of many names I've used throughout the years. Morgan, however, is my given name. Unless you hear otherwise, that is what you may call me. Think you can manage more water?"

The honest answer was 'no'. Will's stomach was doing flip-flops at the sight of the bottle. But he nodded anyways, knowing that it was a necessary evil. He choked back another mouthful and breathed deeply, waiting for his stomach to settle.

"What's happened?" Will asked, unable to make sense of everything. "The last thing I remember I was…"

_Yes, Will, what is the last thing you remember?_

He remembered Elizabeth staring down at him, intensely frightened. Cannon balls exploded all around while pistols fired wildly, giving Elizabeth an even more angelic appearance. He remembered the cold feeling of her hands on his face as she fled, leaving only darkness and pain behind. After that, he had a vague recollection of more pain and the warm, drunkenness that followed his consumption of rum. And then he woke up here, hung over and sick to his stomach.

But Elizabeth…

Oh God, where did Jack say they were?

"I've got to get back. I've really got to get back."

He couldn't stand. His legs were dead weight underneath him, rendered useless by his injury and his sickness. Morgan watched him, half-humoured by his attempt to rise, but didn't move. She'd come to terms with his weakness, even if he hadn't.

"I think it's best if you stay lying down for now, Will," she said with a small smile. "We're in the middle of a storm, headed due south."

"South?" Will said suddenly. He was struggling to rise now. "I have to get back to Port Royal."

"And you will get back, but not now. Getting shot in the presence of Jack Sparrow is not the best terms to leave a Port under. And with your reputation, Mr. Turner, I can hardly fathom the governor being pleased with you."

Will groaned. No, the governor wouldn't be pleased. He'd have Elizabeth accept the Commodore's proposal on the spot before sentencing Will to be lynched publicly.

"You're probably feeling sicker because your body needs to orient itself right now. At the next port you can send word to Elizabeth and her father, implicating me in your disappearance."

"You mean Sir Andrew."

"Yes," Morgan said.

He sighed. Sir Andrew's name on the message would give him a little bit of immunity from the wrath of the Swann's, though he figured his credibility was already shot, what with half of Port Royal now lying in ruins and Jack Sparrow sighted?

Not that he had much of a choice anyways. The thought of stowing away was quickly dismissed when he thought of how terrible it would look for him to show up unaccompanied and wounded, looking and feeling more like a pirate than he ever had in his entire life. Weatherby wouldn't just lynch him. He'd have him lynched and fed to the gulls too.

"You should try to drink a little more."

His stomach wasn't protesting as much, so Will took another sip, and then another, much to Morgan's approval. She finally smiled at him, eyes gleaming from the speed of his recovery.

"I'm going to leave this here," she said, corking the bottle and setting it near the bed. "You should try and get some more rest, but if you're feeling bold, there are some clothes in that trunk and some food over in the galley. Just make yourself at home, Mr. Turner. The men on board this vessel once sailed under your father, at least…my men did. I'm not sure about Jack's. But I can promise that no harm will come to you."

"You knew my father?" he asked.

"Yes, long ago. I was his cabin boy when I was a child, and then later, his first mate. And now, the ex-captain of his ship."

Will's blood was surging. "This was my father's ship?"

"Yes," she replied. "The mermaid on the bow is modeled after your mother."

His fingers brushed the timber under the blankets, smoothing over their coarse surface as the thought sunk in: this was his father's ship, and that meant this had more than likely been his father's cabin. Once upon a time, Bootstrap Bill Turner had paced about these floors like Jack had done earlier. He'd conversed with crewmembers within these walls, probably fornicated with women-of-ill repute for all Will knew.

He felt flustered and changed the subject.

"And you know Jack?"

She hesitated. "I _knew_ Jack. We haven't spoken in years."

"You and he didn't…"

He didn't have to finish the statement. Morgan got the implication immediately.

"Heavens, no. Our relationship is…familial."

"You're related?"

"We share a mother," she replied. "But we've barely spoken since she died."

Now William understood why she looked so familiar. The high cheekbones, pointed chin, and sharp nose were the same as the ones Jack Sparrow himself bore, say for hers being several shades paler.

She opened her mouth to speak again when the door was thrown open.

"Captain!" the figure said, though Will couldn't rightly tell whether he was human or not, he was bundled up in so much clothing. It was only when he pulled away his hat and folded his coat lapels down that William could see his face clearly. He was dark-haired and fair skinned, several inches taller than William himself. His brown eyes met Will's, sending shivers down the blacksmith's spine. This man meant business, whoever he was. "The main sail can't take much more of this abuse. We've got to raise sails or else we're lost."

"Raise sails then, Mr. Ridley."

"NO!" another voice shouted from the hall. The dark woman called Ana Maria had appeared and forced herself into the cabin. "We've only several leagues more to go before we hit land for the night. There's a port not far from here."

"We're never going to make it that far," Ridley snapped.

"The ship can hold!" Ana retorted. "Where's Jack?"

"Gone to the galley to raid the wine stores. Mr. Ridley, raise the sails. I'm not taking any chances, even if there's land to sleep on tonight."

"You're not acting captain!" Ana interjected.

"And neither are you. So go raise those bloody sails or else I'll do it myself."

"Aye captain," Ridley said, shooting Ana a dirty look before leaving again. Ana just turned on a heel and headed out, probably going to find Jack and tell him what his quartermaster was doing.

"I'll be back," she said. "Make yourself comfortable, Mr. Turner."

She left the room. Once the door closed William felt the walls close in around him, a familiar embrace he'd only ever felt once before when his father was alive.

**

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**

**Author's Notes**

I realize that Will is not one to get seasick. He lasted out a storm on the Interceptor in the movie without any adverse effects. However, in the movie he was in perfect health, and sleeping in unsteady conditions with a hangover is never a cure for nausea. A hangover alone is enough to make you want to expel all your internal organs. Translation: DRINK RESPONSIBLY!

There's a little bit about Morgan in this chapter, but the rest of her life will be looked at a bit later. There are some things that need to happen before she's about to spill her guts.

As acting captain and resident ship lover, it would be assumed that Jack would be on deck for the remainder of the voyage. However, he has been without rum for a while, and I assumed his first priorities as acting captain would be breaking into Morgan's alcohol supplies. Sorry if this offends anyone! I'm trying to loosen him up a little, that's all.

Oh, and just in case anyone was getting ideas from this chapter: William and Morgan are not going to become a couple. Though I dislike Elizabeth and find her pretty useless as a character, Will would not be swayed so easily from the woman who rescued him. And Morgan's feelings for him are…well…you're just going to have to read and find out.

**Reviews**

**_BlkPearl:_** Thank you for reviewing! I'm trying to update on a scheduled basis nowadays, but sometimes school comes out of nowhere. Hope this was up fast enough for your liking!

**_Whiterosesforme_**: Definitely going to look closer at Morgan's relationship with Jack from here on in. The title not only came from Will's examination of his father, but naturally, the bond the two share through the scars on their hands. Oops! Giving away plot prematurely. I realize the distance between them, but the two really haven't kept in touch, what with them both being sailors from childhood on. Anyways, I'm working on giving them a little more spice in a VERY non-incestuous manner. I'm just being a little cautious for those who dislike female inserts. The rapid introduction of OFC's usually throw readers off. I hope she's not too two-dimensional!

I promise there's more! Thanks for the comments though. They're really helpful while writing!

**_JackFan2_**: Your review was so eloquently written that it made my day just reading it! I am humbled that you would think that about my writing, humbled and grateful that I didn't embarrass myself. Jack's characterization is one of many contradictions, so finding out about how the readers feel is great.

I know how you feel about stories you never finish. A lot of my original fic isn't even started yet, and most of them have been WIP's for over three years! I was actually considering abandoning this one just because the school year was getting so hectic, but my friend's dorm room is decorated wall-to-wall with Johnny Depp posters and _Pirates of the Caribbean_ memorabilia, so it was hard to escape the plot bunnies. Don't be over critical about it, when you want to write, the story will come. I just hope it comes soon. Your review alone was very well written!

I actually find Will and Jack's characters equally as intriguing. Their characters were both underdeveloped in _The Curse of the Black Pearl_ and I really wanted to flush them out a little more. I agree though, their dynamic is a wonderful one with Will being so uncertain and Jack being overly so.

And thanks so much for the Texas weather! The snow here never seems to leave.

_**I appreciate every single one of the reviews I receive, so keep them coming, please and thanks!**_


	17. The Storm Breaks

Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story pertaining to _The Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl_ are the property of the Walt Disney Coporation. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

Chapter Seventeen: The Storm Breaks

Jack Sparrow couldn't quite explain it himself. One minute he had been flat on his feet, a wine bottle in each hand, and the next he was under the table in the galley, attempting to convince his enraged first mate that he wasn't there. Ana, however, was not in the mood to play the Captain's game, and not long after his initial explanation of, "Jack's not in at the moment…come back in…(he paused, considering just how long it would take him to drink down two full bottles of wine)…best to come back in ten minutes, love," she pushed the table against the wall and faced him, hands on her hips.

He regarded her with suspicion. "I thought I told you I wasn't here."

"You said you were captain!" she shouted.

"I thought that was indicated by the hat," he said, pointing to where the hat should have been, forgetting that he wasn't wearing one.

"You cannot seriously expect to go sailing through a thunderstorm!" Morgan's voice boomed from the hall as she stormed inside the galley.

"We can make it!" Ana recoiled. "Bootstrap built the ship to withstand these weathers!"

"No ship is completely storm proof! And if those sails tear we're riding the tide all the way to this supposed port of yours."

"It's less than five leagues away!"

"I don't care if we've already disembarked, we're hoisting the sails!"

As the two women continued to banter, Jack crawled across the floor, back under the table and out of the crossfire. Unfortunately, Ana caught him again.

"Jack!" she shouted.

"Ten minutes…" he replied, popping the cork out of one of the bottles.

"Jack!" she screamed again, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and pulling him out from under the table. "Give the order to sail on!"

"Sail on?"

"JACK!" Morgan shouted. "This is still my ship! I'll not have you impugning on my judgment simply because your boatswain thinks she knows better!"

He looked to Ana. "I'll not be doing all those things she just said because you think you know better."

"The sails will hold!" Ana shouted, pointing accusingly at Morgan.

"Not for much longer!" Morgan shouted back.

"WHAT IN THE BLAZES ARE YOU TWO ARGUING ABOUT!" Jack said suddenly. The two women just glared at him in disbelief, unsure if he was being serious or just trying to make light of the situation.

"She just gave the order to have the sails raised when WE'RE FIVE LEAGUES FROM SHORE!"

"They've sustained enough of a beating from the storm already and the winds are picking up. If we don't raise them, we'll lose them, and we can't afford that!"

"It wasn't your order to give!"

"It's not Jack's either!"

He was shrinking away from them again, allowing their argument to press on, unhindered by his interjections. Ana was not so quick to simply let him shy away though, and she once again had him by the scruff of the neck, pulling him out from under the table.

"Captain," she said sternly. "There's not much further to sail. If we raise sails now we might lose the wind by morning."

"We might lose them anyways in this storm!"

"At least we'll be closer to land!"

"Jack, please," Morgan begged.

"Captain," Ana beseeched him.

Jack hesitated and raised a finger towards Morgan first, and then shifted so it pointed towards Ana Maria. Morgan was certain he would side with her, if for no other reason than because they were related, whereas Ana Maria was convinced Jack would take her side, being that they were shipmates and all.

The captain, however, had different plans.

"Eeenie-meanie-miney-moe…"

Morgan stormed out of the room.

"We're not finished yet!" Jack shouted after her.

* * *

He had managed to walk across the room without falling, a feat William felt fairly proud of, all things considered. Morgan had mentioned getting a change of clothes whenever he felt up to it, and after several minutes of gathering his strength, he finally rose from the bed and clambered over to the trunk she had pointed out.

It was longer than the others, and wider, for reasons William couldn't determine until he opened it. The trunk was used for all of Morgan's clothing, most of male guises, but others for female ones. White cotton shirts were folded neatly at the base, alongside a pile of undergarments and shoeboxes. Several corsets were stacked along the side, their whale bone inserts keeping them proper upright. Dresses, petticoats, jackets and trousers of varying elegance were spread out in the middle, pressed flat and kept separate by sheets of thin parchment. She could be a working class gentleman one minute and a Duchess the next depending on what she picked to wear.

Bypassing the more elaborate pieces of her collection, he found suitable attire near the bottom of the trunk. The dark brown of the jacket was not suited for the courts and had been well worn. The silver buckles were tarnished with age, practically falling off from use. The pockets had large holes in their bases, and Will made a mental note not to use them for anything.

Wary of his shoulder, he pulled on one of the cotton shirts. The muscles pulled and tugged against the knitting flesh, causing him to wince. He could still feel the blood crawling over his skin under the bandages, even more as he stretched and strained to pull on the other sleeve. Finally, he could relax, allowing the pain to drift off into oblivion before he continued with the task of dressing.

With the coat over his shoulders, he rose finally, and took the first step forward towards the door. It was oddly comforting to not be scrutinized for once. He'd spent the past few months under the harsh eyes of nobles, unable to measure up to the impossible standards they placed before him. But now he was staggering about in well worked clothes, in one of the few places his own father called home, surrounded by people who had once known the elusive Bootstrap Bill.

He reached the door, a major victory considering the lethargy he'd suffered from before. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door, just as Morgan came barreling down the hall towards him, retreating from Jack's shouting voice.

She did a double take, stopping short in the hall before giving him a once over. Will's head shrank low behind his slouched shoulders. He knew he wasn't at his best, but he didn't look that horrible, did he?

A smile crossed her features and she blushed crimson, before continuing on up the stairs to the main deck.

"Now see here!" Jack shouted, as he and Ana Maria entered the corridor. Upon seeing William, however, Jack jumped back, waving his hands around defensively.

William felt like he had been kicked in the gut. He inspected his front as best he could, afraid that he had left a button on his trousers opened or something. He couldn't find anything wrong, yet when he looked back to Jack, the pirate still had a shocked expression on his face.

"Will…" he said, giving him a once over.

Ana just looked unimpressed overall. She didn't see what all the fuss was about. William was too pale a boy to warrant such attention on her part. She grabbed Jack by the wrist and dragged him off towards the deck.

"LEMME GO! You look great, lad. ANA!"

* * *

Lightning flickered against the pitch black sky, rattling through the dense, billowing clouds like glass shattering in the night. Rain came down in buckets upon the crew as the ship rose and fell upon waves several feet high. In only her lightly coloured trousers and white corset, Morgan gleamed in the darkness like a star. She had climbed up the mast to help fix the sails with the remaining members of her crew, attempting to keep the thick fabric from ripping as it flapped wildly in the wind.

Jack Sparrow was shouting, but she paid him no heed. Her mind was fixed on the task at hand. The captain ran forward and climbed up the rope ladder awkwardly as the ship rose high on another wave. He leapt behind her and clung to the beam like a monkey, gripping it between his thighs.

The ship dipped low, water splashing against the hull. Will pinned himself in the corridor using his legs to keep him inside. He stared in shock at the sight of the ocean racing towards them, rising high over the forecastle and sloshing over the main deck. Crewmen clung to the mast and the rigging, anything that would keep them rooted to the ship. Above the sails, he caught sight of Jack reaching for Morgan. At first, the captain looked like he was about to strangle her, but as the water splashed up and nearly knocked them off, he had pulled the young woman to his chest and held her back.

The ship leveled out suddenly, and Will was thrown face first into the stairs.

"TIE DOWN THESE SAILS!" Jack shouted at the top of his lungs.

"THEY DON'T HAVE THE STRENGTH TO LAST ANOTHER LEAGUE!" Morgan screamed back at him. "WE'LL NEVER MAKE IT TO SHORE!"

"THEY CAN TAKE IT!"

"ARE YOU WILLING TO BET YOUR LIFE ON THAT!"

"I'm willing to bet yours!" Jack said. "Tie them down and we'll be on land in an hour."

"I can't do that Jack," she replied, shaking her head. Her hands were shaking as she pulled up the sail. "I won't do it."

He grabbed her by the hands, drawing her attention back to his face.

"Please?" he was begging, desperate even. Morgan stared into his face, chewing on her lower lip. It was against all her better judgment to keep the sails in place. It was against all the better judgment of any captain she'd ever known.

But he looked so desperate, and she couldn't refuse him. She released the sail to the wind.

"Ridley, tie off this rigging," she snapped coldly to her first mate. The dark haired man hung his head in shame, unable to look at her, let alone respond. She pursed her lips into a thin line. "Ridley!" she called to him again. "I said tie off this rigging."

"Aye, Aye," he said, hesitating for a moment before he spat, "Captain."

She turned her sights on Jack. "Is there anything else?"

"Let me finish my bloody drink!" he shouted, and dropped down to the deck below.

Morgan closed her eyes and felt her heart sink. Ridley shot her a look but she didn't return it. She climbed down the mast and staggered back inside, walking straight past Will as she headed to the lower decks.

* * *

**Author's Notes**:

I think this chapter's pretty much self-explanatory. The reaction to Will's clothing will be revealed soon, as will a lot of the mystery surrounding Bootstrap and the ship, the Wayfarer's Redemption. Also, some people might be wondering why, if there are bounty hunters looking for Jack, he would be docking his ship. My explanation is that he performed the typical 'switch-a-roo'. The hunters would be looking for the Pearl, not the Wayfarer, so it would be fairly safe for Jack to stop for a while.

**Reviews**:

**_Alexwacrap_**: Why are you jealous? There's nothing to be jealous about!

**_WhiteRosesforme_**: Yes, I agree – it seems as if whenever there's something in it for Jack he becomes a little more complacent about things. Tough luck on the rum though. It looks like he'll just have to steal some from the next port they hit.

Oh yes, there are plenty of secrets to dish out. And I can't wait to do it.

_**Thanks to everyone who reviewed!**_


	18. Heart Shaped Box

Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story pertaining to the movie _The Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl_ are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

Chapter Eighteen: Heart Shaped Box

William hesitated before knocking. What business was it of his if she and Jack were fighting? She had her reasons, Jack had his. Telling him didn't do either party any good. It just turned him into the middle man, and he disliked that position more than being uninvolved.

But he felt guilty about leaving them both in a snit. Jack had retreated to the galley to finish off his bottles of wine alone while Morgan had stowed away in her cabin, their familial bond shattered yet again by some petty argument over the sails. From what William could gather neither of them seemed very keen on reconciliations. Whatever had happened was in the past, and they intended on keeping it that way.

_Still_, he thought to himself, _nobody should have to live like this._

And so he knocked, not really expecting an answer, but received one anyways. "Come in," she said. Will gathered his strength and did as she requested.

She was sitting on the ledge running the length of the opposite wall, staring out the tiny windows at the dark ocean beneath her. The storm was still raging and rain splattered along the glass yet she hardly noticed.

"I'm not going to bite you, Mister Turner. Either come in or go out, but you're letting in an awful lot of cold air."

"Sorry," he said, closing the door.

"Not at all," she replied. She still hadn't looked at him. "I'm sorry things weren't more amicable on board. It's certainly not fair to you."

She finally looked at him. Her wet lingerie hung from thin cords along the right wall, dripping water to floor, and she had changed into her men's clothing once more, finally looking the role of a pirate. The navy blue coat was older and weather worn, worth pittance compared to the outfit she'd attended dinner in. Her chestnut curls were pulled back in a messy bun, tied in a black ribbon to keep it out of her face.

"You can come closer, you know. None of this is about you, William, of that I can assure you."

He strode forward, cautiously, watching her expression very carefully. Her eyes fell upon him again and they seemed to light up, gleaming with a sad sort of happiness.

She sensed herself blushing again and looked away, staring down at the ledge beneath her. A book lay open to her left, face down to hold the page, weathered from the amount of times she'd read it. A small container of snuff sat next to it, partially open, and the air around them was still filled with the lingering fragrance of powdered tobacco.

William said nothing. Snuff wasn't unheard of in the Caribbean. What had once started as a habit of nobilities had become common amongst the working class as well, and it wasn't unusual to see the Swann's or their kitchen staff sniffing small pinches of it occasionally. Although most of Elizabeth's uncles turned to pipe or cigar smoking upon arrival, he still knew snuff was a favourite. It smelled better.

She noticed his gaze and recapped the snuff nervously. "Your father never approved," she said at last with a small smile. "He didn't think it was right for a woman."

"What was he like?" he asked, after a million questions suddenly popped into his mind. He never had the chance to talk to Jack about his father, so any source of information was a blessing.

Morgan leapt off her ledge and went immediately to her luggage, fumbled inside of it, and then pulled a wooden box from inside of it. She handed it to him.

Will hesitated, not sure what he would find inside. His experience with pirates told him it could be practically anything. But Morgan shook it, insisting that he take a peek. He took it and lifted the lid, setting it atop the ledge so he could use both his hands to look around.

It was dark in that corner of the cabin, but he could make out the objects inside quite clearly. A single piece of expensive parchment was folded in the corner, bound in butcher's cord. Modest pieces of men's jewelry clanked against the sides.

He grinned for a moment with the same melancholic undertones as she. His fingers toyed anxiously with the butcher's cord in the corner of the box, until he could bear it no longer. He untied the parchment, unfolding it eagerly. It was a drawing of a man, presumably William Turner Sr. seated placidly on the deck of a ship, cradling a piece of paper in his hands.

"He always said he looked better on paper than he did in life," she said.

"You drew this?" he asked.

Morgan nodded. Will was transfixed. He understood now why so many pirates had nervous breakdowns around him. Bootstrap did look surprisingly similar to him – the same jaw and nose, the same thing lips and black curls. The only startling difference was their eyes. Bootstrap's were larger, rounder, and less pointed, while Will's were slightly slanted and slender. _Your mother's eyes_, he thought to himself, running his fingers over the drawing.

His eyes blurred in and out of focus as tears formed at the edge of his vision. Trying to regain his composure, he brushed them away, and was about to fold the picture once again when he noticed something.

The coat Bootstrap was wearing in the picture was startlingly familiar, even though it was fairly ambiguous. The dark material and distinctive clasps jogged Will's memory to the one he'd borrowed from Morgan. Sure enough, when he looked down, it was like looking in a mirror: he was wearing his father's coat.

He looked to Morgan, whose smile was disappearing the more she stared at him. His glance seemed to snap her out of her reverie, however, and she looked away.

"I was essentially orphaned when I was four," she began. "Not that having parents would have made my life any different. A girl in Tortuga is only destined for one path, Will, one that I didn't care for even when I couldn't understand the meaning of the word 'whore'. I decided early on that if I was ever to survive in life by respectable means I had to be a boy instead. So I stole some clothes off one of the tavern boys, cut my hair, and offered myself up to any captain passing through." She gave a small laugh. "I got myself hit one too many times, but I didn't care. I wanted off that bloody island. I wanted to go home."

"Where was Jack?" Will asked, eyes narrowed. Surely Jack wouldn't have left his four year old sister to fend for herself?

"My father had taken him away after my mother died. He was a tall boy, a strong boy, someone who could manage the hard labour. But I was girl, and a scrawny one at that, meant to sell myself for pittance. So my father left me with the women of Tortuga and sailed off. I never saw Jack again till now."

The pieces of Morgan's puzzle were suddenly coming into place. No wonder she harboured so much resentment for Jack. Will understood abandonment; he understood how easy it was to blame people for it. In the wake of his mother's death, he had cursed the world and everyone in it: the doctors who refused to help because they couldn't afford it; the bankers who wouldn't loan him the money for a burial because he was a child; the minister who refused to deliver a sermon because his mother was a Catholic. Just when he needed someone, the world had been shutting him out. Morgan must have felt the same way.

"It was your father who eventually took me on. I was seven at the time, and I sailed with him as his cabin boy till I was ten."

"Why'd you leave?"

"The Caribbean was never my home, Will. I wanted to go to London, live in the city…become something - anything besides a pirate. So, I spoke to your father, and he sold me off to another pirate – a female one this time, pure-blood Italian – who called herself Rain. She and I cut a deal. I would go to school on her funds until I graduated with a degree, and then I would pay back every cent of with my earnings and interest of course. The amount was astronomical, but in the end, I didn't have a choice. I could have stayed with your father and been a pirate for the rest of my days, or get a respectable job that was leaps and bounds above my class. And all I had to do was behave like a man, which wasn't difficult after growing up with them for so long.

"Rain was a woman of high tastes. She taught me manners, grace, and etiquette; I learned how to speak proper English and Italian. She taught me how to fence and fire a pistol and ride a horse…everything I would need to fool people into thinking I was of aristocratic birth. By the time I arrived at St. Eustace's – the school I went to – I had become a completely different person: Andrew William Morgan."

"And it worked? They believed you?"

"Of course they did. The school was more concerned with the amount of money Rain paid in order for me to attend. She had come from a long line of Italian nobility and inherited a fortune so large she could have enrolled a chimpanzee if she wanted to and they wouldn't have questioned her judgment.

"Nine years later I graduated from Oxford with a degree in Medicine. Rain ordered that I pay off my debt as her surgeon and being that she had spilled at least two fortunes into my schooling, I could not refuse. And her travels were taking us back here, so I thought it a good opportunity to thank your father for his kindness.

"But when I returned, the Caribbean had changed. And by the time I found your father, he was marked for death."

She fell silent. Her story had come to an end, it seemed, and William didn't try and press her. He wasn't quite sure if he wanted to know the rest. After all, what followed was Bootstrap's murder at the hands of the crew of the Black Pearl.

"I loved him like a father, Will," she whispered as if her words were a scandalous confession. "I would have died to save him. He just never gave me that option."

She patted him on the arm.

"He was a good man. One of the best men I've ever known."

"I wish I'd known him," he replied.

Silence followed, one that no longer felt so uncomfortable. William stared into the hand drawn features of his long dead father and felt the pains of envy creeping throughout his chest. Everyone else had gotten to know the elusive Bootstrap Bill but him. Jack looked to him as a comrade, Morgan looked to him as a father, and Will...well, he couldn't really see his father as anything but a drawing.

He folded up the parchment again and placed it back inside the box. He closed the lid and handed it back to Morgan. "Here," he said, "It's yours."

"Oh no," she replied, pushing it back towards him. "It's yours. Those were the last of your father's worldly belongings. He would have wanted you to have them, Mr. Turner, not I."

Will felt his heart sink. "They're yours."

She shook her head. "He wasn't my father, Mr. Turner, he was your father. And it pained him to have never known you. There's nothing in that box I need to keep, but there are things in there I think you do."

He glanced from the box back to her. She smiled at him, eyes glistening with unshed tears as she gazed upon him, the spitting image of a man she had once looked to as a father.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

I can promise everyone: the relationship that develops between William and Morgan is purely friendship. From a technical aspect, Morgan not only encourages the development of Jack – though in a lesser sense, he seems pretty content with the way he is now – and also, using her as a foil to Will's character. But that's later on. Just remember that Will + Morgan friends.

**Reviews**:

**_JackFan2_**: I totally agree with you about Jack and Ana. She's such a fierce character that it's a miracle she and Jack get along so well. And she's a lot of fun to write for! Kind of like a overbearing mother to Jack's free-for-all spirit.

No, I'm not planning anything romantic between Will and Morgan. I am a true believer in cononicity as well, so I'm going to leave Will and Elizabeth to one another. Morgan's affections for him stem from the fact thatWilliam was Bootstrap's child, and she could never have that type of bond with him. Will and Elizabeth are completely canon, so I won't mess with that.

You have every right to be overly critical. I don't want to mess anything up, so comments regarding my characterizations are always appreciated.

No worries about the reviews! Anytime you can get around to doing it is lovely!

**_Talk to you later! Thanks for reviewing!_**


	19. The Scarlet Nightmare

Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story pertaining to _The Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl_ are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

Chapter Nineteen: The Scarlet Nightmare

William wasn't certain whether or not the Island was under British rule. The port that lay before them bore a lot of resemblance to Tortuga, and as they drew nearer, William's stomach began doing flip-flops. The last time he had been to Tortuga, he had been with a less than trustworthy Jack Sparrow, making even less trustworthy plans with the pirate captain and his old allies. The same feelings descended upon him as the distance between he and anarchist port lessoned.

Worse yet, he doubted there would be anywhere in the port to contact the Swann's regarding his location. _Perfect_, he sighed. Weatherby was going to have him for breakfast when he got back.

He tilted his head back in the rain, allowing the soft drizzle to splatter over his forehead and cheeks. It soothed his unease somewhat, but every second that passed brought him that much closer to another port overrun with pirates. His pulse quickened. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Something besides his predispositions was exacerbating his nervousness. The question was what.

Morgan approached the bow of the deck with a serious expression on her face. He could have sworn he'd heard Ana Maria shout a taunt as she emerged from the cabins and wouldn't be surprised if she actually had. William remembered Gibbs saying that it was bad luck to bring a woman on board a ship, now he was realizing that the superstition was wrong. Two women were much worse.

Pulling her telescope from her coat, Morgan inspected the state of things at the shore. The bring bonfires lining the coast cast long silhouettes of the ships in their direction, giving her an accurate reading of how many pirates were settling there that night and if any were threats. William watched her with only mild interest, unable to muster anything better. His body was trembling out of unconscious fear, and he didn't know what for.

He cast another glance in her direction only to find her in much the same state. Her usually stoic exterior had gone limp, and the telescope dropped from her eye, hanging loosely at her side. "No," she said. "It can't be," and then raised the telescope back up in order to get a better look. Whatever fears she had were confirmed, for she folded the telescope back up and marched back towards the helm.

"We've got to turn this ship around," she said, "Now."

"We've only just arrived," Ana snapped back. She was getting cocky now that she knew she had the Captain's ear.

Morgan didn't bother with argument. She descended back down to the lower decks, probably to consult Jack herself.

Will didn't like the way this was going. He followed after her.

* * *

The pirate captain was still drinking in the galley, consuming yet another bottle of wine when Morgan marched in. He recognized the look on her face from the argument before and rolled his eyes, unable to face her.

"What now?"

William walked into the room.

"It's the Scarlet Nightmare," Morgan said. "She's pulled into port tonight as well."

For a second, Jack seemed to go as white as a sheet, but then he regained composure. "You're sure?"

"Positive. I'd recognize that flag anywhere."

"Only fools are positive, darling," he replied with the same Jack Sparrow swagger he was so famous for. "You'd better be damn sure about this."

"I am. Otherwise I'd come ask you to look for yourself."

"What's the Scarlet Nightmare?" Will asked, not enjoying being uninvolved at all.

"I tried to order Ana Maria to turn around, but she's only going to take an order from you," Morgan continued as if she didn't hear him.

"No," Jack said. "Sail on."

"This isn't time to get cocky, Jack!"

"I think this is a perfect time to get cocky. Sail on, quartermaster."

"Jack!"

"Sail. On."

Morgan opened up her mouth to object again but couldn't come up with a suitable argument. She stormed out of the room.

William looked from her to Jack. "What's the Scarlet Nightmare?"

Morgan disappeared on deck again. Jack remained.

"What's the Scarlet Nightmare, Jack?" he demanded.

"A ship…"

"But not just any ship," Will snapped. "I remember that ship, the name. Who captains that ship, Jack?"

He received nothing but silence again. "Who captains that ship, Jack?"

"Robert Bateman," Jack replied, all his swagger gone. "Captain of the Scarlet Nightmare for the past twenty years; the scourge of the Caribbean; the most feared pirate to have sailed the seven seas; Satan's spawn; the embodiment of all evil; and the man paying to have me killed."

There was a beat. The two stared at each other, attempting to work out what had just been said and make sense of it. William was the first to break the silence. "He's put a bounty on you?"

"Technically speaking, yes. He put a bounty on me."

"Do you make it a habit to try and get yourself killed?"

"Bateman's already spotted us. If we turn around now we'll attract even more suspicion than stopping for the night."

"He's more likely to find you if we pull into port!"

"Damned if we do and damned if we don't, but turning around is the more evil of the two…evils, so naturally we choose the lesser of the two and we're bound to live another day."

"Except that you have no way of knowing if Bateman's spotted us yet."

"Except that maybe that's just what Bateman wants us to think. So in thinking that, we have been forced to play his game and therefore make him the winner. However, if we think otherwise we have avoided the entire nasty process of letting him win and win ourselves."

Jack smiled, impressed by his infallible logic. Will was just trying to make sense of the mess of words and failing miserably. He decided it was best to just trust Jack's judgment. As screwed up as it was, it rarely steered them on the wrong course, and even when it did, they survived.

_Yeah_, Will scoffed, _barely._

* * *

"What do you mean I'm not allowed to go ashore!" Jack shouted angrily.

Morgan looked up from the process of filling a bag with some belongings to bring over to shore for the night. She rolled her eyes. "The most deadly pirate in the Caribbean is looking to kill you, and you want to waltz right into his path?"

"So why can't I go ashore? You're going."

"Nobody's looking to cut my head off," she reasoned, strapping a belt around her waist with her sword dangling from it. "Besides, we're going to need supplies for this voyage - supplies besides rum."

He looked shocked. There were other supplies besides rum.

"What kind of an argument is that? You haven't got any money either."

She smiled, impressed by whatever trick she had up her sleeve. "But I have got noble authority Jack, something that can get you supplies without money."

"Ah," Jack said, clearly not understanding. "So that explains the get-up then, does it?"

She was dressed just nice enough to pass as a naval officer, but not nice enough to pass for a noble. With her false facial hair and tricorn, she no longer looked like the confident noble marching through the chaotic streets of Port Royal. She was no better than those bumbling guards Jack had met supervising the Interceptor.

"Just stay here," she said. "And keep out of trouble."

The second she left the cabin Jack's face developed a mischievous grin. Glancing into the palm of his hand, he examined several pieces of jewelry he'd plucked from Morgan's chests and grinned from ear to ear.

He'd keep out of trouble alright. He just wouldn't stay on board.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

Ah yes, the familiar sound of Jack about to get himself into a precarious situation. He does seem to do that often doesn't he, especially when there's a chance to get some rum out of the bargain?

A little bit of explanation here just in case anyone's confused: Morgan does not, in fact have any money to her name. However, she wouldn't sell any of her things because she enjoys her nobility. Her background doesn't allot for her to give away anything that has any sort of cost, seeing as how obsessed she is with her appearance. So her interest in the treasure is to further her collection and potentially retire, not drive herself into the poor house.

William's anxieties, as most of you have probably guessed, are related to the Scarlet Nightmare. They too are explored later.

Also, I have edited the previous chapter. Thank you to everyone who noted my historical error! I was under the impression that cigarettes transcended time, but I was most definitely wrong. I have made some changes to make the chapter historically accurate. Thank you for bringing this to my attention! I will do more research from now on.

**Reviews**

**_Smithy_**: Thanks for the point about the cigarettes! And I am staying as far away from Will's love life as I possibly can. As useless as I thought Elizabeth was, they're meant for each other. I can square with that. I'm glad to read that you're enjoying the story!

**_Alexwacrap:_** Mmmmm…milkshakes. It's been a long time. Although I did have ice cream just the other day. Thanks so much for the compliment! But there really is no reason to be envious. You're very talented with words yourself!

I wasn't really intending on making you cry! I'll warn you before there's anything between Jack and Morgan, just so you're on your guard.

**_CaptainAnnieFinn_**: Definitely not finished yet, there's much more to go. You're the second person who seems to think that there's only one chapter though. Is there an error with the document? It's fine from my end, but Fanfiction has had troubles before…

**_Lyn_**: No worries about the review! Computers are the least dependable things on the planet, especially with sites like these. The formatting is so fragile. Anyways, thanks so much for the depth of your review and the suggestions. I really appreciated them. It spurred my own relentless research on snuff, cigars, and pipes so that I could remedy my ignorance. I actually did some research on pirates and found that smoking tobacco alone got you forty lashings (at least for a crewman, it didn't say anything about Captains) and you were right, it was likely to cause a fire. Plus, snuff was considered more dignified in court, seeing as how tobacco was so smelly, so it was more likely to become a habit with Morgan after spending such a long time with nobles herself. However, by this time it was also made available to the working class – thus, the reason why pirates made it so popular.

I really appreciate the correction! I'm going to try and be more accurate from now on and do my research beforehand!

_**Thanks so much to all the reviewers thus far!**_


	20. The Woman who looks like a Man

Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story pertaining to the movie _The Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl_ are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation. This in an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

Chapter Twenty: The Woman Who Looks Like a Man

Morgan had given William one simple task: making sure Jack Sparrow and his crew stayed on board.

It was the simplest request she could have made. All it required him doing was waiting on board to ensure Jack's cooperation, and knowing the Bateman had it in for Jack only gave him more incentive to comply. He didn't want anything happening to the pirate captain if he was there to stop it. So he armed himself with a rifle and kept a close eye on the vacated decks of the Wayfarer's Redemption, keeping a shrewd eye on the docks for any potential assailants.

The quietness of the night only made his guard duty more chilling. He paced back and forth across the deck, trying to calm his pounding heart, but only managed in scaring himself more. The clouds were starting to disperse and soft moonlight trickled down from the heavens. Images of undead pirates danced slowly across his mind, sending shivers throughout his body.

"You're scaring yourself, Will," he said quietly to himself, taking a deep breath of a night air as he moved closer to the bow of the ship. He gazed into the inky waters sloshing against the hull, eyes slowly drifting upwards to the ship's figurehead. What had Morgan told him? The mermaid was carved for his mother? Narrowing his eyes in the low light, he waited until the clouds shifted above him to show, quite clearly, a beautifully carved mermaid. His heart skipped a beat for the second time that night as his mother's beautiful face appeared in his memory. Unlike reality, however, the mermaid's face was safe from time's deadly taint. It didn't have the bruises his real mother had or the scars from life in a workhouse. She was immortalized for eternity as the beautiful woman Bootstrap would have remembered her being.

He looked away from her, unable to meet the melancholic gaze the fantastical version of his mother bore on her sullen face. The images of her face in his mind were fleeting, and as soon as they appeared, they disappeared once more into the shadows of his memory. A strange sort of rigidity crashed upon him and his muscles all tensed in unison. All his fear, anguish, pain, and hatred for the father he'd never known filled him so completely he could scarcely breathe.

The strange attack filtered through him, rising upwards to the darkened sky above him. The clouds billowed overhead and shut out the moon, sealing the harbour in darkness again. He turned back and found the mermaid's face had disappeared in the shadow, vanishing from sight.

Behind him, the cabin door was thrown open so suddenly and fiercely that Will jumped, about facing to ascertain the nature of the disturbance. Shadows passed through the doorway and waltzed out onto the deck, figures William couldn't quite make out.

"Jack?" he whispered, just in case anyone was listening.

The figure in the lead stopped short, waving their arms about in distress. Will rolled his eyes. _Jack_, he thought, and walked towards the group of people making their way off the ship. His eyes narrowed through the darkness, taking note of the odd silhouettes in front of him. Jack looked narrower and wider around the bottom along with the figure behind him. In fact, if Will didn't know any better, he would have thought the captain to be wearing a dress.

"Where do you think you're going, Jack?" he asked casually, lowering the rifle. The captain let out an uneasy grunt, and the clouds parted again overhead, cascading moonlight down onto the ship.

Will did a double take when he took note of Jack's current state. The captain _was_ wearing a dress. And a corset and a petticoat and by the looks of it, high heeled shoes as well. The gown had been borrowed my Morgan's collection and was as old as the hills. The tattered indigo fabric shown slightly turquoise in the moonlight, like peacock feathers. His mess of dreadlocks was ruffled over his shoulders, pinned up slightly with some ornate jeweled ornaments the pirate was probably going to sell for rum money. A piece of ripped fabric tied around his head provided a necessary veil to hide his facial hair.

"Jack…?" he asked, stunned.

"This isn't what it looks like," Jack said defensively, backing away from Will with his skirts raised slightly over his feet. Will noticed that he was, in fact, wearing a pair of Morgan's heels.

"Alright, Jack, then what is it?" he asked, still staring at the captain, cocking a brow in both confusion and disgust. Jack's mannish appearance made him a very ugly woman.

A pause. Jack cast a glance over his shoulder to the person behind him, revealed in the moonlight to be none other than his first mate Ana Maria. She was dressed in her usual loose fitting garb along with that massive hat she always wore to hide her face. From the look on her face, she didn't have any more answers than Jack did.

"Alright, this is exactly what it looks like," Jack said with a sigh.

"Are you planning to go out in public like that?"

"Of course," the captain replied without even a semblance on shame.

William knew he was going to regret asking the next question. "Have you gone completely mad?"

"He's _been_ completely mad," Ana stated before Jack could utter a word.

"Ah, but there is method to this madness. Bateman would never think to look from me in a disguise like this," he looked very proud of himself indeed. Even beneath the veil, William could still make out that gold-toothed grin the captain was so famous for. "I wouldn't even think to look for me in a disguise like this."

"I should hope not," Will said under his breath.

"Well…" Jack said, hesitating a moment to think if there was anything else to say. He then came to the right word. "Bye!"

"Wait! Jack!" the blacksmith whispered. "You shouldn't do this."

"But I am doing it," he said, and mounted the gang plank.

"What happens if this disguise of yours doesn't work?"

"I'm going with him," Ana said, following Jack down the gang plank.

"I can't believe you're supporting this."

"I'm armed with two pistols and I could pick Robert Bateman out of a crowded tavern just by smelling him."

"That's comforting," Will said sarcastically.

"Would you relax, whelp? I'm not going to be gone long."

"You really shouldn't be doing this…"

"Look, if you're so keen on protecting me, why don't you just come with me?"

Jack was looking him right in the eye, daring him to make a move. From beneath the veil, Will knew a coy smirk was spreading over the pirate's taught features. He could stay behind on the ship, but then he'd have to square with the idea of letting Jack wander off with only Ana Maria as protection. Yet, if he left the ship, he'd have to explain both his absence and Jack's to Morgan. Plus, Jack's expression was egging him on, playing into that boyish sense of superiority Will strove to accomplish but failed to manage on a daily basis. If he stayed back at the ship after Jack had given him an offer like that, he was impugning on his own fragile sense of manhood.

Without another word, he set down the rifle. Morgan had given him a belt with a sword and pistol before leaving, and he took nothing else with him. He just followed Jack.

* * *

Morgan had wandered about every street and alley in the port and found no sign of any naval office every existing. Any structure resembling it was overrun with drunks and whores, many of which mistook her for a man of similar interests. She wasn't foreign to sexual propositions, but that didn't make them any less awkward. _If only they knew,_ she mused, bypassing yet another circle of prostitutes on the street corner.

She stopped for a moment, sighing with exasperation. _Trust Jack to bring us to a town where the only commodities are sex and rum_, she groaned.

Turning on a heel, she headed back for the harbour. However, just as she passed by the next alley, a hand reached out and grabbed her by the arm. Morgan let out a small scream, lashing out angrily at her assailant as she was pulled into the alley.

"LET ME GO!" she shouted, just as a hand was clapped over her mouth. A rush of panic ran through her as she thought about the whores on the street corner. She forgot all about looking like a man and feared for the sake of her womanhood. Thrusting her foot downward, she left him leaping around on one foot from the pain. She elbowed him in the stomach, whipped around, and drew her sword in one smooth movement. In just a few seconds, she had the blade's tip against her attacker's throat, and pushed him up against the wall, bringing him into the light.

"Jared McCreedy," she snarled, recognizing the man's face immediately. The dark haired Scotsman laughed, his brown eyes gleaming happily, even in the shadows. He was much taller than she, more muscular, and his broad shoulders were nearly twice her narrow width. He could have clobbered her without much effort.

"Andrew Morgan," he smiled back at her. "And here I was thinking the captain was just joking about the Wayfarer's Redemption."

She didn't remove her sword. "What the hell do you want, McCreedy?"

"The Captain wanted to see you. Poor guy missed his little Andrew."

"What does he really want?"

"Pull the sword away," he said with a smile.

"I'll pull the sword away when you tell me what he wants."

McCreedy yanked a pistol from his belt and aimed it at her head. Morgan didn't have time to react. "How's about you give me the sword, Andrew?"

She hesitated, lips pursed in a thin line. Shaking with rage, she lowered her weapon and handed it to him.

"There's a good boy," he said with a crooked grin, holding her sword down at his side. "Pistol too." She relinquished it without complaint. "Now, how's about we go meet up with Captain Bateman, eh?"

* * *

**Author's Notes**

Chapter's a little short, but the next few should be longer. Also, within the next week I'll be studying for my finals, so I might not be updating as often as I am now. I have no intention of abandoning this piece though, so don't worry! I will be back as soon as I don't have to write exams anymore.

I've now got both the Sparrow siblings dressing up the opposite sex. I'm sorry – I couldn't resist. But I think the most frightening thing is that if it came down to it, Jack would dress up as a woman to get his hands on some rum.

And just a little note here: I know from experience that writing from the point of view a female interest is a good way to lose readers. I swear that the majority of the story will be told from Will and Jack's perspectives, but Morgan's POV was necessary for the cliffhanger. Thanks for reading!

**Reviews**

**_Jack-Fan2_**: No worries about the reviews! Whenever you can, I always love some feedback. I am so happy you enjoyed the 'Jack Logic'! I was watching _The Curse of the Black Pearl_ yesterday and listening to the soundtrack to get into the mood. Every time that jovial little violin solo comes on all I can hear is Jack's infamous lines like, "The man who did the waking buy the man who was sleeping a drink. The man who was sleeping drinks while listening to a proposition by the man who did the waking," and, everyone's favourite, "But where's the rum gone!"

I really had no intention of alluding to Jack's lines to Will, but I suppose it just worked out better that way. Naturally, the one thing anyone tells Jack Sparrow not to do is the one thing he's sure to accomplish.

And there will most definitely be some of Jack's protective nature coming out over the course of this voyage. Also, while I cannot divulge in any of my secrets, things are not always as they appear. There's a very good chance that there are many more players in Bateman's game that Jack doesn't even know exist yet, maybe some close to home (shifty eyes).

Looks like you're just going to have to keep wondering for now. CHEERS!

**_Sands-Agent_**: Thanks for the review! Anytime you can, just drop a little comment. I appreciate it!

**_Lyn_**: Thanks so much!

**_Alexwacrap_**: Oh, it's definitely going to turn out for the better, just wait and see! As for my life, I've got exams coming up in a week and then I'm home for the summer. So next week, updates might be rare, but the week after I'll be back to my usual self and update every few days.

How's the school year looking for you? Are you enjoying your classes?

_**Thanks so much to the reviewers! You are the reason that I keep writing as fast as I do, so don't stop!**_


	21. The Scourge of the Caribbean

Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story pertaining to _The Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl_ are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-One: The Scourge of the Caribbean

"We really should be heading back," Will said, visibly shaken by the town. They had just passed a third whorehouse with equally as many sexual propositions as the last. Jack's face was mottled with red welts in the shape of handprints where women had scolded him for flirting out of place. For all intents and purposes, he was just competition, another flip-tail on the lookout for a customer, say for his obvious interest in those of the same supposed gender.

"If Jack takes one more hit to the head he might lose whatever sanity he has left," he thought to himself, keeping a watchful eye on the advancing women. Missing teeth and naked breasts were in abundance here, and William was wary to keep his head bent low. He hadn't even been married yet, and he was waltzing around one of the most heinous ports in Tortuga. _If the Governor could see me now_, he thought with a laugh. Yes, if the Governor could see him now, traveling in the company of pirates would be the least of his worries.

"That's where we're headed," Jack said, pointing a shaking finger in the direction of a ramshackle pub by the name of The Beheaded James, most likely a reference to the King himself. Will's eyes widened at the blatant inference to regicide and his heart skipped a beat. As a former Londoner, such a statement was taken a bit personally, despite his broken connections to his homeland.

They made their way across the cobblestone street, pausing every now and then as another drunken buccaneer wandered his way towards the houses of ill repute. Will averted his gaze as every manner of gentleman was immediately accepted, for a price of course. Coins clanked against the pavement and women screeched with laughter. Will just wanted to go back to the ship.

Turning his sights on the tavern, he thought he caught sight of Morgan heading inside. He blinked and shook his head. No, Morgan wouldn't have taken a detour to a tavern…would she? She didn't seem the type, whether as a man or not. The 'Sir Andrew' part of her was too classy for such a place.

"Ah…finally," Jack said, catching the familiar scent of rum.

"Jack, I really think we should…" Will began, but alas, no dice. The pirate captain was already wandering inside, drawn by the sight of wooden mugs containing his drink of choice.

"Look around first…" he trailed off, and simply followed Ana Maria inside. Talking would do him very little good at this point. He decided it was better to just accept it. This was Captain Jack Sparrow after all.

* * *

"Barkey, RUM!" Jack demanded, only to receive a very offended look from the man behind the counter.

"Bugger off you bloody wench. I don't serve flip-tails," the bartender started to walk away, but Jack was not about to ignored, not with rum on the line. Jack grabbed the bartender by the sleeve and yanked him back in front of him.

Will winced, fairly certain the captain would be slapped again.

"On any other occasion I'd agree with you. But…" Jack yanked one of the hairpins from his hair and slammed it down on the counter. The bartender's eyes widened at the jewel. Knowing Morgan, it was probably worth more than his tavern saw in a year. "I do believe that this is a fair price for an unlimited supply of rum," Jack finished his statement.

The bartender licked his lips and nodded. "Yes, ma'am." He snatched up the hair pin before Jack could change his mind, and, clutching the jewel as if it were a lifeline, he emerged with several bottles of rum from his supply under the bar.

Jack could barely contain his excitement. He ripped out the cork of the bottle so fast his hand movements were a blur. He emptied the first bottle quickly and had pounced on a second before Ana Maria could help herself. She shot him a dirty look, shifting her harrowing gaze to the bartender.

The colour drained from his pudgy face and he appeared to be caught in the middle of a panic attack, induced more than likely from Ana's stare. She had the ability to bring a grown man to his knees with her 'look'. Gibbs lived under the permanent belief that Ana's 'look' caused weak men's hearts to stop instantaneously. He'd never look her in the eyes for fear that he'd be next.

Another bottle of rum produced itself from under the bar within seconds, and this time, not even Jack was quick enough to snag it away from her.

William, who had never been fond of drinking and more than likely never would be again, especially after feeling the cruel effects of a hangover just hours before, took up his usual post as lookout. He scanned the crowds, attempting to discern friend from foe. However, in such a broken neighbourhood, he doubted if such labels could actually exist. The entire room was a threat really, and each individual was just a varying level of danger. Some of the more drunken ones were arm wrestling in the back, shouting in guttural Irish. Boisterous conversation rang out from his right, where several shipmates toasted to old tales from the high seas. Will sighed deeply, trying to calm his nerves. They would stay five minutes, long enough for Jack to satisfy himself, and then they would head back. Morgan wouldn't even notice they were gone.

_Speaking of Morgan…_Will thought to himself, looking off into the dimly lit corner of the tavern. One of the gentlemen had glanced casually over his shoulder, and in a split second, William thought he saw her again. His eyes narrowed. He had already thought he spotted her once before. Twice in a row meant that he was either looking straight at her or he was obsessed. Seeing as how the latter of the two was unlikely, he considered that the first was true, and took shifted around to get a better look.

Again, the man looked over his shoulder, and William nodded to himself in confirmation. It was Morgan. But who on earth was she talking to?

In the shadows, it was difficult to make out whose company she was actually in. He could see at least three faces, none of which he recognized. That and the rigid composure Morgan was maintaining told him that she didn't recognize them either.

He couldn't read lips. The lone lamp on their table didn't provide nearly enough light for that. But something about the silhouettes sent shivers down his spine, aside from their obvious enigmatic air. He had suffered the same attack earlier, upon hearing the name 'Scarlet Nightmare', only this time his hand was reaching instinctively towards his pistol.

"I've got a bad feeling about this place," he said to Ana, keeping his voice low.

"Aye, and me as well," she said, taking another swig of rum. She elbowed the captain, nearly causing him to spill his rum. "Time to go," she snapped.

Jack shook his head, still drinking.

"This isn't the time, Jack," Will warned. "We've got to leave. _Now._"

"Would you relax, whelp?" the captain said with a roll of his eyes.

"Ana…" he was getting desperate. He didn't like this at all.

She looked over her shoulder in the direction he was staring.

The colour drained from her features.

"He's right Jack, it's time to go."

"Oh, not you too."

"I mean it, Jack. Back to the ship."

She rose from her barstool, just as a burly gentleman advanced upon them from the crowd. He loomed several inches over Will with short, dirty blonde hair and eyes the colour of smoke. His pale skin was stretched tightly over thick muscles and the more he stared at Ana, the more he seemed to swell. He stretched his back, towering another inch or two before grinning toothily and laughing in a low rumble.

"Ana Maria," he said.

Jack went rigid. He glanced over his shoulder at the man then back to his rum, eyes wide with sudden fear.

"This certainly is the captain's lucky day isn't it? First his prodigal son returns, and then his wayward courtesan," he eyed her hungrily. "Miss your dear friend, Damian, then did you?"

"Don't flatter yourself," she spat. "I was just leaving."

"I don't think so," he said, grabbing her by the wrists and forcing her back against the bar.

"HEY!" William said, a bit too loudly. He'd caught the attention of several tavern patrons with his outburst, even more so when he tightened his grip on the pistol at his waist. "We were just about to leave."

The man smiled even wider. "My God," he said. "You're Bootstrap's whelp then, ain't you?" he laughed. It was a statement, not a question – as usual. "Apple doesn't fall far from the tree either. Noble protector of whores, just like his daddy was."

Ana threw him off of her with a grunt, but he pounced down upon her again, only to have Will's pistol pointed squarely in his face. Behind him, Jack had readied himself to join the fight, but Will discretely shook his head. There was no point in this getting anymore out of hand than it already was. Also, his instincts flared at the thought of Jack being de-masked this late into their game. Their only hope for escape was for Jack to remain under the guise of a woman.

Damian chuckled. "Fierce too. By the powers, it's like Bootstrap back from the dead. Gonna sleep with her too then, whelp? Give birth to a bastard just like you?"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" he shouted, cocking the pistol.

"Not quite yet it isn't. But it soon will be…for you."

Damian released his hold on Ana and leapt for Will's pistol. He grabbed William's wrist and twisted the weapon loose, only to have the blacksmith punch him square in the face, issuing forth an agonizing crack that resounded through the room.

William winced and groaned painfully. The tendons in his hand were on fire, trembling from their injury. Damian appeared to have gone unscathed, despite the amount of force William had applied to his punch. Smiling just as madly as before, he grabbed Will by the neck and lifted him into the air.

Jack was on his feet, but he never got the chance to interfere. A second later, a man's voice filled the silence of the pub.

"Damian Riggs."

Damian was visibly shaken. His grip on Will wavered, then tightened further still, causing the blacksmith to turn vaguely blue.

From the dark corners of the tavern emerged a man dressed fully in black. His coat was patched and stitched in many places, as were the clothes underneath, but his presence demanded the utmost respect, seeing as how the entire world had stopped spinning when he moved.

His jet black hair glimmered in the gold lamplight, pulling back in a loose ponytail. From beneath a distinctly Irish brow gleamed two eyes, pale silver in colour, ones that sent shivers throughout Damian's entire body. He bore chiseled features – high cheekbones, strong chin – causing him to resemble a serpent more than a human being.

Thin lips curved into a cold smile. "Drop him."

Damian glared at Will, but did as he was told. He released his grip, sending Will crashing to the ground with a dull thud. He coughed and spluttered, gasping for breath, already feeling the flesh on his throat start to swell.

The serpent man sneered. "Mr. McCreedy, take Mr. Riggs back to the ship for forty lashes for causing a scene."

His icy eyes turned on Ana, who was gripping Jack's wrist tightly.

One of the other gentlemen rose from the back table and strode forward with much the same arrogance as the man in black. He smiled coldly at Will and ushered Damian out into the street with backhanded compliments.

Serpent-man offered Will a hand. The blacksmith took it and was immediately lifted to his feet. Only then did business in the pub continue as usual.

"I must apologize for the behaviour of my crewman," he said, but the sound of his voice told Will that he didn't mean a word of it. "Damian Riggs has a weakness for beautiful women, though I thought him man enough to seek out the uninvolved ones. Turning his sights on one who already belonged to someone is frowned upon on board my ship."

"She's not mine," Will corrected him.

Serpent-man cocked a brow, and cast a glance towards Ana again. The way she was clutching Jack made her look like a lesbian. He turned away.

"Ah, I see," he said with a sigh. "How unfortunate for you."

Ana opened her mouth to protest angrily, but could not get a word in. Jack had already grabbed her mouth to keep her quiet.

"Perhaps then, you will leave your lady friend to hers and join myself and the remainder of my crew for a drink," he said.

"I really should be getting back," Will said, taking a step back towards the door.

"Nonsense," the man said, "I insist."

Will felt the walls closing in on him. Serpent-man was not requesting, he was demanding, and something told William to obey. The man's hand was resting dangerously close to his own pistol, after all.

"Very well," Will replied with a slight nod. Serpent-man grinned sadistically.

"Then allow me to introduce myself, seeing as how I already know your name. I am Robert Bateman, Captain of the Scarlet Nightmare, and I am very pleased to make your acquaintance."

* * *

**Author's Notes**

Well, I'm happy to say that I made it through all four of my wretched exams with my head still planted firmly on my shoulders and not a drop of blood spilled! On the one hand, I am most definitely behind a credit - Calculus was horrible, even with a cheat sheet - but on the other I have changed my major to English which means no more Chemistry or Calculus. It also means no more Bio, but my mother's got quite collection on anatomical charts, so I will not remain completely ignorant.

This chapter's pretty self-explanatory.

**Reviews**

**_Ellise_**: I'm very happy to read that you've enjoyed the story so much. I can empathize as well. There's not a lot of fanfiction that can hold my attention these days, and while I feel bad admitting it, it's the truth. So I'm flattered that you would consider mine so addictive. THANKS!

**_Alexwacrap_**: Intro Calculus sucks! Hell, Calculus sucks period. And it sucks even more when you think of how you're never going to use it after High School (or University, if you take it there). Kudos for taking art though. You seem to have a very eclectic mix of classes. What is it you want to go into after you graduate? Nice mantra too. I know a couple of people who follow it. This is definitely going to be a bit of a set-back in Jack's plan, but don't worry, the captain's got a plan up his sleeve. Not saying it's a good one, but that's Jack for you.

Good luck in all your classes!

**_Lyn_**: I had no idea they weren't called rifles! Not that I thought they transcended time, but I kind of figured the musket was a completely different breed. I haven't had time to read up on anything yet, but I most definitely will. Thanks for bringing this to my attention!

I completely forgot to give Will his sword! I'll fix that as well. Did you know that the scriptwriters said that Will is the best swordsman in the movie, followed closely by Norrington and Barbossa? Funny thing is that they actually said Jack Sparrow was supposed to be the worst.

**_Captain Annie Finn_**: That's a relief. I was worried because a few others had left reviews asking if the story extended beyond the first chapter. I'm very pleased to read that the rest of it was accessible. The first chapter doesn't contain a lot of plot!

**_OolongFinale_**: Like the pistols it was just a mistake in wording.So sorry to have confused you! I will keep that in mind and go back and edit it!

**_Sands-Agent_**: Love you name by the way! Sands was one of my favourite Johnny Depp characters. I'm very happy to read that you're enjoying this. Good luck on your exams though! They are quite frankly the least fun thing about school.

Jack in a dress is not something that leaves your mind easily...especially when you listen to Aerosmith's, 'Dude Looks like a Lady'. I think I may have doodled him on my Chemistry exam as one of the answers when I couldn't remember a certain formula. As for Jack being exceptionally smart, yes, I like that element to him as well. He's quick thinking and witty, but that doesn't make him the absolute brightest crayon in the box. Alas, that is what I think people love most about him.

**_Sorry about the wait! Summer holidays has just started so, aside from work and social outings, this is one of my main focuses. Hope everyone is enjoying it and I'll be sure to update soon! Thanks so much for all the reviews!_**


	22. Greater Things at Work

Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story pertaining to _The Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl_ are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Two: Greater Things at Work

Morgan shot Will a disapproving glare as he was thrust into the seat next to her. He shied away from her murderous glances, turning his sights on Bateman. The serpentine captain was giving him looks of sugar-coated sadism, making Will even more nervous. Everyone was out to get him, and in his current state of self-loathing, he couldn't blame them. He did just bring Jack into the presence of the man who was out to kill him.

"Will Turner, this is Henry Gibbons, my surgeon," Bateman gestured towards the partly Asian man on the opposite side of the table. "And it looks like you've already met Captain Andrew Morgan."  
"He's sailing with me," she spat, turning a foul gaze on Bateman. William could feel the storm clouds of her mind billowing next to him. _Hell hath no fury_, he thought with widened eyes. _God help me._

"Is he now?" Bateman took his seat again, next to his surgeon. Gibbons' expression was unreadable. His catlike features were placid, even as he stared into the obviously familiar face of Bootstrap's son. "He wouldn't know where Jack Sparrow is, would he?"

"Not unless the captain has been wallowing in the decadence of Port Royal recently," Morgan answered quickly, leaving no room for Will to interject. Much as she may have been angry, she wasn't about to offer Will up on a silver platter.

"Funny you should mention Port Royal," Bateman replied, even though he didn't find her statement funny at all. Just coincidental. "The way Rags tells it, the Wayfarer was seen sailing out in the company of the Black Pearl."

Morgan stared at him incredulously. "Rags also claims that the world is flat and was created by a giant sea turtle. He'll say anything for a shilling."

"Or to keep his head on," Gibbons remarked casually, fingering the hilt of his sword as he did so. His amber coloured irises remained fixed on Will.

"But you must have been in Port Royal," the sourge of the Caribbean said. "I mean, you collected Mister Turner."

He was backing Morgan into a corner, and both she and William could feel it. Yet Morgan kept her cool, barely hesitating or missing a beat before replying. "I was in Port Royal actually a day ago, arriving just as the Trailblazer engaged the Black Pearl. Rags' _misconception_ was probably because I was pursuing the Pearl, not leaving in her company."

Bateman's eyes glimmered like shards of broken glass. "I'm offering ten thousand shillings for the capture of Jack Sparrow."

"Why?" Will asked, a little to quickly. "What do you want Jack for?"

Morgan's eyes were back on him, even more murderous than before. He saw her mouth move in his periphery, hissing the words, "Shut up."

"Jack Sparrow owes me an unpaid debt," Bateman answered. He was attempting to sound calm, but was failing miserably. "According to the code, if a pirate of the Brethren steals from another the punishment is death."

"The Brethren?"

"The Brethren of the Coast," Morgan said quietly. "A brotherhood of pirates who swore to never steal amongst themselves. I wasn't aware that Jack was a member?"

"Bootstrap was. And so was his crew. I gave Jack the money under the oath of the Brethren with a set time alotted for repayment. By ignoring the deadline, he committed the very crime he swore to never commit: robbing from a fellow member of the Brethren."

A silence descended upon them. The storm clouds Morgan had been brewing disappated, and she sat, mute and stunned at Bateman's words. Of course, Jack would have told her everything except that. He'd baited her, and she'd taken it - hook, line, and sinker.

"Jack Sparrow is an insult to the Brethren and a growing thorn in my side," Bateman said with narrowed eyes. "You tell me if you see him."

Morgan had looked away, but found herself nodding anyways.

Bateman rose from the table, "There's a good lad." Gibbons rose with him, still gripping the hilt of his sword. Bateman threw several coins onto the tabletop.

"Good to meet you, Turner. Andrew, always a pleasure."

And with that, they left the tavern.

Morgan followed suit, thoroughly defeated. She didn't seem to even have the resolve to lecture William about the orders she had given him. They simply got up and started to walk away.

And that's when she saw Ana Maria at the bar, with a very ugly woman at her side.

"Morgan," Will said, trying to reason with her. It didn't seem to work. She had already recognized the concubine and was advancing like a feral predator.

Without saying a word, she struck Jack hard across the face. Then, in true female fashion, turned on a heel and stormed out of the tavern.

"I don't think I deserved that," he said, grabbing another bottle of rum non-chalantly.

"Can we go now?" William asked.

"Aye," Ana Maria agreed. She grabbed Jack by the arm and followed Morgan out into the night.

* * *

None of them much to say as they walked back to the Wayfarer, partly because Bateman was still in earshot, and partly because Morgan was still fuming. Any attempt to explain themselves would have resulted in a stern lecture, followed undoubtedly by revealing Jack's true identity to the world. They all just thought it best to brood for a while, or in Jack's case, grumble irritably over being dragged away from his precious rum again. 

"Captain," Ridley said, emerging from one of the alleys with a few of the Wayfarer's crew in toe. "I've been looking all over for you. A piece of _live_ cargo is missing from the hold."

"I'm aware, Mr. Ridley, thank you," she snapped curtly, throwing a glance over her shoulder at Jack Sparrow. Ridley's eyes narrowed in confusion, and then at last recognized the man beneath the veil. Giving Jack the strangest of looks, he went back to speaking with his Captain.

"I take it Bateman is unaware of our additional passengers?" he whispered to Morgan. She nodded in response, too infuriated to speak even in casual conversation. "Shall I lock him in the hold, Captain?"

"Oh, give it up, Ridley," she spat, quickening her pace to free herself from the immediate situation. Ridley didn't even try to keep up. He stopped in the street, watching as she jogged towards her ship, his lips pursing into a thin line.

"Looks like I'm not the only one not getting any tonight," Jack said.

Ridley wasn't in the mood for sarcasm. He advanced on Jack.

"OY!" Ana shouted, pulling her pistol from its holster.

The Wayfarer crewmembers followed suit.

"That's enough!" Will said loudly, ripping Ridley's sword from its sheath. He pressed the cold tip of the blade against Ridley's throat.

Jack was beaming at Will's brash move, under the impression, of course, that Will was on his side the whole time. However, the blacksmith quickly turner and pressed the blade against Jack's throat. "You too! We're not going to get anywhere by bickering."

"The boy's right," Ana said in agreement. "Let's move."

* * *

It was nearly midnight when a shadow moved silently through the cabins of the Wayfarer, slinking past the Captain's quarters and the galley only to descend further into darkness, using only a dimly lit lantern as a guide. The figure held it low around his kneecaps so a casual glance would not give away his identity, allowing the golden light to cascade over his features in a frightening, ethereal manner. He appeared like an apparition, wandering through the corridors of the Wayfarer's Redemption at a time like this. 

Closing the door to the hold behind him, he turned to face a multitude of humanoid silhouettes hidden amongst the barrels of supplies. The man lifted the lantern to his face and smiled softly as he stared into the other, impressed with how many people had shown up.

"You'd better make this quick, Ridley, before the Captain notices we're gone," James Harding grumbled from the head of the pack. His large, muscular arms were crossed over his chest in a most unamused fashion.

"You shouldn't worry, Harding. What I have to say isn't going to take very long," Ridley said, lowering the lantern again, plunging the hold into darkness. He closed the door completely behind him and took several steps forward. "I think everyone knows why I called this gathering."

"If you're preaching mutiny I'll have no part of it," Walter Crouch spat coldly.

"I'm not preaching mutiny," Ridley replied, shaking his head.

"Then what are you preaching?"

Another lantern had appeared in the room behind Ridley. The crew's faces went white as sheets, as if they were looking at the face of Bootstrap's ghost. The voice, however, revealed the newcomer's identity immediately, and even before Ridley turner, he knew who he would find there.

It was Morgan.

"Captain," he said, lowering his head to show reverance. The gesture was like a slap across Morgan's face.

"Get back to your quarters," Morgan snapped. "Now."

The crew didn't miss a beat. They left the cargo hold swiftly and silently, each one casting nervous glances in Ridley's direction. He knew to stay behind without an order. Morgan's eyes were fixed on him, burning with anger.

When the hold was deserted, she enterred, closing the door behind her.

"I won't be undermined, Ridley."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he answered quickly.

"Do not think me stupid either. If it is mutiny you want, than say so."

"Mutiny entails a rising against the captain," he snapped. "You're nothing but a quartermaster now."

She punched him twice; once to the right and once to the left, and then kneed him in the crotch. His legs went limp and he dropped to the floor in front of her.

Cold steel was pressed against his throat for the second time that night. He looked up at the thin blade of Morgan's sword, lifting his gaze warily to the enraged eyes of his former captain.

"Give me a reason not to," she hissed. "I've seen some captains kill for less."

He didn't question the title this time. "Bateman has quite the proposition."

"I should have known..." Morgan shook her head. "This isn't about mutiny. It's about the bounty."

"It would be enough to retire."

"I'm not handing Jack over to Bateman."

"He's wanted by the Brethren, Morgan! A Brethren you're a part of, may I remind you."

"I don't care. I can't do it. I won't do it."

"Why?"

"Because I can't."

"That treasure doesn't exist..."

"THIS ISN'T ABOUT THE TREASURE!" she shouted.

"Than what is it about?"

Morgan's bottom lip quivered. She allowed the silence of the hold to eat her alive for several minutes before she sheathed her sword.

"There aregreater things at work here than the love of money," shehissed. And with that she left the room, slamming the door behind her.

She didn't stop walking till she was out on deck, inhaling the sea air deeply. Her eyes fell immediately to her right hand where a thin line of blood was oozing outward from her palm. Hissing an obscenity, she shook the blood away, running her fingernails along the scar gleaming underneath.

* * *

Author's Notes: 

So sorry about the delay! I wasn't expecting to have been gone so long, but I spent the last two weeks travelling and job hunting after returning home. Also, Fanfiction was down for the past three days, and I don't have the Internet on my laptop, so I'm sorry if the editting on the next few chapters seems kind of lax. I need Microsoft Office back!

Anyways, the scars on Morgan and Jack's hands will be explained in later chapters. It's not a huge plot point...yet, anyways.

Also, the Brethren of the Coast was an actual fraternity of sorts developed between pirates. It's where the code originally comes from, including the word 'parley'. I have a feeling that Disney may be using them as a plot point in _Pirates of the Caribbean 3_, considering the plot is based on nothing but backstabbing, the very thing that lead to the downfall of the Brethren in 1680. I think they mention them in the movie. Hmmm...must watch DVD again!

Anyways, time for...

Reviews:

**_Smithy_**: You're very fortunate to have never had a bad Calculus experience...say for that one teacher. I've had a couple of those teachers too, that are right even when they're wrong.

And you're not that old.

**_BlkPearl_**: No worries! I won't delete this story, even if I edit it! Read up whenever you can or want to, and thanks so much for the review!

**_JackFan2_**: Oh no, Riggs and Ana definitely have history; as do Bateman and Morgan, but nothing like that. He's under the impression she's a man.

I enjoy Ana and Jack as well. They're such opposites! She's very in-your-face, while Jack is dodgy and evasive. Their dynamic was perfect for the film! Unfortunately, Zoe Saldana's name has not reappeared on the cast list for _Dead Man's Chest_, and from all the spoilers I've read, it doesn't sound like she's returning. Huge shame, really. I was considering throwing in something more than Jack/Ana friendship, but I'll just have to see where the story takes me.

I'm a huge hurt/comfort fan as well, although more of Will than Jack. You're suggestion has given me an idea though, one that I hope to bring in within the next few chapters.

I, too, have been reading up on the _Dead Man's Chest _spoilers. The storyline is definitely darker, and I agree. Yipes is right.

Thanks so, so much!

**_Sands-agent_**: There's so much to say about all of Johnny Depp's characters, Sands especially. I think he should have gotten the Academy Award nom for him instead of Sparrow. Thank you!

**_Lyn_**: Ah, Algebra. So, so happy that I no longer have to take Math.

Gah, sorry. Symantics, I suppose. That and I had the misconception that muskets were specifically wide mouthed weapons and the long range weapon typically used in the films were reminiscient of modern pistols. I'll go back and fix it. Thanks for the head's up!

**_Alexwacrap_**: Ugh, my parents did that too. Except 'lawyer' was 'doctor'. Eventually you just have to do what will make you happy. Good luck with whatever you choose! I'm sure you'll do fabulously.

And don't worry. I'm getting more than my fair share of sleep.

_**Once again, I'm sorry about the time it took me to post this! The rest of the story is up and coming!**_


	23. Minor Set Backs

Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story pertaining to the movie _Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl_ are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation. This is an amateur writing effort, meant for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Three: Minor Set-Backs

There was a visible division between the two crews aboard the Wayfarer the following morning. Ridley had taken up permanent residence on the high deck, alongside several other sailors too large to pick a fight with. Others were scattered throughout the lower decks. Ana Maria claimed the helm in Jack's absence, a claim not even the largest of Morgan's men were going to dispute. She'd already made herself out as a force to be reckoned with. The remainder of the Pearl's crew were doing work on the main deck.

William tried to make himself useful, but found it rather difficult with the tempers of the crews being what they were. The Wayfarer crew members were being their usual pompous selves, heads held high against the insult of working with the substandard sailors from the Pearl. Meanwhile, Jack's crew were murmuring nasty things about their compatriates, making nasty jokes and the like.

He opted to make himself scarse. The last thing he needed was more confrontation.

But finding solidarity proved even more difficult, especially on a ship. Morgan's cabin was permeating a distinctly 'off limits' air, what with her still seething about Jack's involvement with the Brethren. She hadn't made a sound since they left the harbour that morning and he didn't expect to see her outside for a good while yet. The galley was meant to be avoided as well, seeing as how Jack was passed out on the table, drunk out of his mind, with wine bottles hugged loosely to his chest. William could hear him mumbling to himself, "No, darling, your the best thing that ever...oh for God's sake you're a man."

He closed the door and walked away.

And that's when he heard footsteps thundering down from the main deck. A man dashed past him, almost barrelling directly into him, heading straight for Morgan's cabin door.

"CAPTAIN!" he shouted, pounding frantically against the wood.

Wine bottles shattered in the galley. Jack dashed forward, knocking Will against the wall as he did so.

Morgan opened her cabin door.

"What?" the two asked at the same time, both responding to the title of Captain. The man barely cast Jack a second glance, eyes solely on Morgan.

"We've just spotted land, ma'am."

"What?" her brow furrowed and she pulled a pair of spectacles from her face.

"There's an island straight off our bow, ma'am," he repeated in more simple terms. Morgan's eyes widened. She grabbed some things off her desk and followed him up on the deck.

Jack waved a hand over his shoulder and re-entered the galley. Morgan wasn't gone long though. She raced back down the steps and entered the galley without invitation.

"Give me the map," she snapped.

"And why should I do that?" he searched the wine bottles for some leftover liquor. Apparently, he had drank it all the night before.

"Give me the map, Jack!"

"Say 'please'." he said, turning around to face her.

Morgan's jaw tightened. "Please give me the map."

"Captain...?" he added.

"Oh, you're such a child!"

"All you have to do is say captain." Of course, it was so simple.

Morgan changed her tone to one of a doting governess. "Captain, will you please give me the map?"

"When you ask like that," he reached into his bodice and dug around. Morgan sighed and tapped her foot impatiently. Jack started jumping around, prying the thick layers of clothing away from his body and staring down towards the floor. When he finally pulled the map out, Morgan wasn't really sure she wanted to touch it. She didn't know where it had been.

She pressed the two map pieces against the wall, smoothing out the crack between the two till it was flush. The shadows made the expression on her face hard to see, but William imagined it was the same clinical stare she had eyed him with when he was first brought on board. Her nose was pinched and her eyes were narrowed in a most decisive manner. He also noticed that dark circles were beginning to develop around them while their white surfaces were bloodshot. She wasn't sleeping much or not at all.

"Oh no," she sighed.

"What?" Jack replied, not very interested in conversation at the moment. He was still sifting through the wine bottles.

Morgan left the room.

Jack, who was clearly more concerned about his piece of the map, followed after her. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

The two emerged on deck, Morgan in her usual seafaring splendor and Jack still clothed in her ratty dress, looking like death warmed over. His hair was knotted messily and the sandbags he'd been using for breasts had fallen out during the night. Yet his high cheekbones and delicate features caused him to straddle a fine line between genders.

The Wayfarer's crew were holding back their laughter. The crew from the Pearl didn't seem the least bit surprised.

"Jack?"

"Yes, darling..."

"What the hell is that?"

She pointed into the distance where a mountanous land mass loomed quite clearly, directly in their path.

"That would be an island."

"I know it's an island," Morgan replied sassily, rolling her eyes. "What the hell is it doing there?"

She was still sore about the night before, and putting several hours between them and the Port was only serving to worsen her mood.

"What the hell is any island doing out there?" he rolled his eyes back at her.

Morgan growled. She narrowed her bloodshot eyes on him. "It's not on the map."

"What?" Jack no longer seemed irritated. He was very interested in what Morgan had to saw.  
"That island is not on the map," Morgan replied pointedly. Jack made a franctic grab for the map pieces in her hand. They were trying to get an accurate reading for navigation that morning, and as well trained as Morgan's map-reading skills were, she was thoroughly stumped. The island straight ahead of them did not exist according to the map she was reading.

Jack was stumped as well. He glanced from the map to the island, back to the map, to Morgan, to the map, and then to the island, making finger gestures at random as he did so. "That's not supposed to..." he trailed off and started pacing the deck, drawing nearer to the island as he did so. He stopped at the bow. "That's not supposed to be there."

"Are you sure you're holding it right?" Morgan demanded curtly. Jack flipped the pieces around several times, unable to determine whether or not he was, in fact, holding it properly. Morgan snatched it from his hands and fitted the pieces together properly, eyeing it as a surgeon would an incision.

She growled even louder. "We're missing a piece of the map."

"What?" Jack asked her, not understanding.

"We're missing a piece. This isn't the whole map."

"What?" Jack still didn't understand. Morgan held the map up close to his face.

"You see these lines here?"  
"That's water."

"I know it's water!" she shouted angrily. "The lines don't match up."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "Still not understanding."

"Well that's nothing new," Morgan scoffed.

"Says the girl who couldn't cast rigging for her life."

"You were the one who thought God was spelt with a J!"

"Like it matters!" he bellowed. "Then again that was all you ever cared about - spelling and counting and nonsense like that. Nonsense that landed you at the side of a flip-tail as I recall."

"At least it didn't land me at the mercy of Robert Bateman!"

"No, but from what I gather it did land you in his bed."

"You're dispicable," she spat.

"What in the blazes does that mean?" he shouted.

"Captain!" Ana shouted.

"What!" the two replied at the same time once again, still uncertain of exactly who was in charge.

"The Scarlet Nightmare's just been spotted astern, and she's coming up fast!"

The colour drained from both Morgan and Jack's faces.

"We left before dawn," she said. "There was no way they could have followed us."

"Unless someone told them where we were going," Jack raised a finger in the air.

Morgan's mouth dropped in shock. She turned her attention to the high deck, where Ridley stared off into the distance, not at all surprised by Bateman's ship drawing nearer over the sea.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

Uh oh...

Chapter's pretty self explanatory. Small cliffie...but I seem to have found my muse again. Where's the Rum .com has the new trailer for _Dead Man's Chest_ and I have overindulged in it to the highest degree.

Enjoy!

**Reviews**

**_Smithy_**: It's not too, too hard because Science and Math isn't a lot of homework. It's memorization most of the time, and teachers depend on you to do your own review. I really hated doing it, and thus, my less than pleasing mark. Thanks for the luck though! I will need it.

**_Sands-Agent_**: Thanks! Sands is definitely a great character. And Rodriguez is thinking about having Johnny Depp come back for the third _Sin City_ movie. Either way, it should be great.

_**Thanks for the support! It's always appreciated. Hope this chapter is to your liking!**_


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